Some Sort Of Love Expert
by sophie-the-duchess
Summary: In which Kristoff tries to tell Anna that he loves her. (Fluffy, smutty Kristanna)
1. Chapter 1

Maybe it's the way she smiles at him.

The apples of her rosy cheeks puff out, her beautiful turquoise eyes crinkle, and the corners of her perfect mouth turn up, and the look she gives him as she reveals her gorgeous porcelain teeth is just for him and no one else, and it makes him melt every time.

After their first kiss, the smile she gives him as she bats her eyelashes turns him to warm butter and he finds it difficult to breathe or swallow or speak for at least the next fifteen minutes while she prances around him, chattering animatedly about all the features of his new vehicle.

When they take Kristoff's new sled for a spin shortly after, Kristoff reluctantly gives Anna the reins, and she flashes the ice master an impish grin that makes him immediately regret his decision, although he can't deny that he loves her for it regardless. Sven is more than happy to oblige when she cries for him to go faster.

Maybe it's the way she says his name.

She says it in a way that no one's ever said it before, stressing the last syllable rather than the first, her voice inflecting on the end like a musical note. Sometimes she's annoyed, sometimes she's crying, and sometimes she's laughing, but any and every way, shape, or form that his name leaves her lips as she gives it life sounds absolutely flawless to him.

When Elsa announces in September that she has given Kristoff his own room in the palace for his extended stays in Arendelle proper ("We have more than enough room to spare, and you are _technically_ a member of the royal staff now.") Anna shakes his arm excitedly and gasps his name with a thrill so ethereal it fries his nerve endings in the best way possible: " _Kristoff._ "

When Anna innocently points out that his room is only just down the hall from her own chambers, the way she says his name is lighthearted and whimsical ("Kristoff! _Look!_ "), as though she's already planning all the late-night castle shenanigans they can get up to together now that he won't be sleeping in the stables with Sven, and Kristoff raises a questioning eyebrow at the queen, who only offers him a shrug and a smirk.

Maybe it's the way she pushes him outside his comfort zone.

She has a zeal for life that he's never experienced in another person. Every new endeavor, every situation is like an adventure to her, one that she dives into headfirst with a passion that far surpasses his own, dragging him along with her and forcing him to truly enjoy living for perhaps the first time in his twenty-two years on this earth. He can't really blame her, having spent most of her adolescence and teenage years missing out on everything the world has to offer.

When the first (natural) snow falls the winter following The Great Thaw, it's much too early on a cold November morning and Kristoff is sound asleep in his bed until he's violently shaken awake by petite hands on his shoulders.

" _Kristoff_ ," she hisses, her voice a whisper that barely contains her excitement. " _Kriiisssstoooofff._ "

The ice master cracks one eye open to see Anna beaming down at him in the darkness of the room, her eyes glowing and hair mussed from sleep.

"Anna? Whatimeizzit?" he mumbles in a slur, squeezing his eyes shut as he yawns.

"I dunno, like four-ish?" Anna shrugs as though the information is unimportant.

Maybe, he thinks, if he pretends to fall back asleep, she'll leave. After a few moments she's shaking him again. He should've known she wouldn't be discouraged so easily. It makes his heart beat a little faster.

"Alright, _alright_ , what do you want?" he groans with a sob as he sits up in the bed, sounding more like a cranky child who's been commanded to do chores than a grown man simply trying to get his beauty rest. But he can't _really_ be angry with her, anyway.

His princess gives him one of her infamous grins that spells trouble. "Do you wanna build a snowman?"

When she finds out that his birthday is in the spring, and only a month before her own, she is _ecstatic_.

" _Kristoff!_ " She cries, throwing her hands up at the breakfast table. Olaf, sitting beside her, mimics the gesture without really knowing why. "We _have_ to throw you a party."

"We don't _have_ to _do_ anything."

Anna _pffts_ and swats at him with her hand. Olaf mimics this as well.

" _Nonsense_ , Kristofer."

She's only been allowed to plan and execute precisely _one_ event before: her own sister's birthday party the previous winter (which sort of also doubled as the official royal Christmas gala), but the experience apparently left her no worse for wear and she plunges straight into picking centerpieces and tablecloths and bunting colors and flower arrangements and everything else needed for Kristoff's birthday celebration with an amount of energy and exuberance that makes him dizzy as he tries to keep up.

At least she has the forethought to consider asking him what he'd like to have to drink at the party.

"Beer?" The princess squints her eyes and wrinkles her nose. "Beer is so _bitter_. Why would you want beer?"

"You don't drink it for the taste," he laughs. "Well, sometimes you do. If you get the good stuff."

"The good stuff," Anna mumbles aloud to herself, considering the idea. She taps her pen thoughtfully on her chin. Then she shrugs and scribbles something down in her notepad. "Alright. I'm fine with it, since it's what you want. And whatever my ice master _wants_ , my ice master _gets_."

 _My_ ice master. It makes Kristoff grin like an idiot for the rest of the day.

Maybe it's the way she kisses him.

He very much enjoys their kisses. After nearly a year of practice Kristoff thinks he's gotten pretty good at kissing his princess, a skill that he now prides himself in along with ice harvesting, knot-tying, and his impeccable knack for reindeer ventriloquism.

It takes him an entire week after their first kiss to even work up the courage to kiss her again. She's in the stables, brushing her white mare in preparation for an afternoon ride, when he waltzes in as nonchalantly as possible after unloading a delivery of ice. Her eyes sparkle when she sees him, greeting him with a call of his name and a wave of her hand, which he grabs with his own and uses for leverage to pull the princess closer to him, landing his mouth on hers with a brief, but firm, touch. He's a blushing, blubbering mess afterwards, but it was worth it to see her smile and feel the hundreds of butterflies in his stomach take flight.

The next time they kiss, it's Anna who initiates it. He has just told her that he'll be gone for a few days harvesting ice when she pushes herself up onto the tips of her toes to give him a parting peck on the lips.

Not long after he returns, he moves into his new room in the castle, and he and Anna fall into a comfortable routine consisting of one kiss in the hall before breakfast and one kiss in the hall after dinner, with the occasional daytime kiss on special occasions thrown in for good measure.

But they've never gone farther than _just_ kisses. Always a delicate, chaste pressing of lips, often followed by the awkward, uncoordinated bumping of noses and a smile or a blush from either one or both of them. Always proper, never lewd or imprudent, but as the months go by and his feelings for the princess become stronger and more intense with each passing day, he's starting to realize that he _needs_ more; he needs _her_.

He realized around Christmas time that he doesn't just love Anna, but he's actually _in_ _love_ with her.

She was a vision in her crimson holiday gown when she kissed him beneath the mistletoe, as chastely as always, but something about the light in her eyes and the sweep of her hair and the easiness in her shoulders and the way she wished him a "Merry Christmas, Kristoff" when she pulled away awakened something inside Kristoff and made him feel as though he was floating clear above the ground.

The feeling is foreign to him, yet it feels as though it's been slumbering inside of him all along. At first he can't really put a finger on it, having long since forgotten what love is even remotely _supposed_ to feel like, but apparently it's composed of fluttery abdominal muscles, heart palpitations, weak knees, and a bit of nausea whenever she's around. It also frequently results in him following Anna about the castle like a sick puppy dog, desperate for any attention from his master. He finds that he misses her often, too, whether she's a hundred miles away or right down the hall sleeping in her own room.

Perhaps the best and worst symptom of all is that it makes him _crave_ physical affection from his princess.

The feeling overwhelms him for months until, one evening after dinner in late May, Anna reaches up on her tiptoes to give him their customary goodnight kiss before retiring to their separate rooms in the castle for the night, and Kristoff finds that he can't hold back anymore.

Anna had spent a good portion of the meal talking excitedly about God-knows-what, as Kristoff had been too enraptured in the sound of her voice and the curve of her throat to be bothered to actually process anything she was saying. His reverie is only broken when he hears Elsa cough quietly in his direction, and it's then that he realizes he's been watching Anna's animated facial expressions and hand gestures with a dumbstruck look plastered across his own features. He'd even been drooling a little, evident by the tiny puddle on the tabletop before him. Luckily, Anna hadn't noticed, and continued uninterrupted with her story while the queen hid a knowing smile behind her hand.

When Anna's lips touch his in the hallway that night, light and silky against his own chapped skin like always, he commands her mouth with his own immediately and pulls her flush against him, startling her. This elicits a squeak from the princess and she tenses in his arms, but doesn't resist, and within seconds she's experimentally kissing him back just as forcefully. Her slender arms snake around his neck as his hands find her waist, moving around to press on the small of her back, pushing their bodies closer together. He presses his tongue against the seam of her lips and she cautiously opens for him, allowing him access to the inside of her mouth, previously uncharted. She tastes sweet, like a mix of cane sugar and mead and nutmeg, and the flavor makes Kristoff's head spin. He takes his time exploring her as her own delicate tongue dances carefully over his. The kiss is moist, and sloppy, as they're both wholly inexperienced in this particular department, but Anna involuntarily moans anyway and Kristoff feels a familiar twinge in his pants at the sound.

When she pulls away first, her freckled face is flushed and her chest heaves with the effort of catching her breath; her pink tongue darts out to lick her swollen lips, tasting the remnants of their kiss, tasting him on her, her blue eyes twinkling with some new life in the dim light of the hallway as she stares at him. Her fingertips come up, curiously, and touch her mouth, as if she can still feel his phantom lips on hers. It's as if she had never considered that they could take their kisses further, that kissing so passionately and with _tongues_ was even an option on the table, and to Kristoff that's so much hotter than if she _had_ known how great kissing could be prior to this.

He thinks briefly of how easy it would be to throw the Crown Princess over his shoulder and carry her to his room. He imagines what her bare breasts would feel like under his hands, how her soft stomach and the curve where her thigh meets her hip would feel beneath his lips, how beautiful she'd look lying naked on his duvet.

He's never wanted any woman as badly as he wants Anna.

Maybe it's the way she smiles at him in that moment and bids him goodnight, before turning on her heel and heading to her room with a little extra skip in her step, that Kristoff knows without a doubt: he's desperately, madly, head-over-heels in love with her, and he needs to find a way to tell her before the emotion eats him alive from the inside out.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day Kristoff finds himself in the royal stables after a restless night that has left tired eggplant-colored bruises beneath his eyes.

It's not that he hasn't dreamed of Anna in _that_ way before, but it seems his subconscious imagination ran a little wilder than usual after their heated goodnight kiss.

An entire year of unresolved sexual tension can do that to a man.

Sometimes he still dreams of Anna freezing to death, causing him to wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, frantically grabbing at a pillow until he realizes what's happened. But usually he just has pleasant dreams about the princess, of her laugh and her smile and her wit and her warmth as she embraces him, and occasionally doing _other_ things to him as well. Unspeakable things that leave him feeling sticky and unsated.

In this particular recurring dream, they're back at his cabin in the mountains, where she lays back on his cot completely nude and spreads herself for him, her auburn hair fanned behind her head like a halo and toying with herself with her fingers and panting in a way that jolts Kristoff awake with a moan. The vision burns behind his eyelids as he tends to himself in the dark quiet of his room, perspiring heavily and fantasizing about his princess to take himself over the edge, to try to find _some_ sort of relief.

Sven gives him a knowing look when he enters the stables.

"Hey, buddy," Kristoff greets, clapping a friendly hand on the beast's back.

" _Had that dream again?_ " he drawls in a snarky, silly voice mimicking Sven's own– if he had one. The reindeer waggles his eyebrows suggestively– if he had any.

Kristoff lets out a whoosh of air. "Yeah, _that_ one. They've been getting worse, the more I..."

Fall in love with her.

"... care for her."

" _When are you going to tell her?_ "

Kristoff shrugs and runs a shaky hand through his blonde locks. "It's complicated."

It's not that he hasn't _tried_. It's just that every time he attempts to say _those_ three words they get stuck. He stammers and stumbles incoherently until he can't breathe and he looks like a blabbering idiot. He wants to tell her, he just physically… _can't_.

"Maybe if I can't tell her, I can show her." He rolls up his sleeves, pushing them to his elbows, and leans casually against the doorframe of Sven's stall.

" _Flowers_?"

"Nah."

" _Chocolates_?"

Kristoff contemplates this for a moment, as she _does_ like chocolate, very much so, then shakes his head. An image appears in his mind's eye of a chocolate-covered strawberry teasingly passing through Anna's puckered lips and he has to force back a shudder. "No, it has to be something special."

" _How about jewelry? Women like jewelry._ "

"On an ice harvester's salary?" Kristoff scoffs, crossing his arms. "In _what_ kingdom?"

Actually, since being promoted to Arendelle's Official Ice Master and Deliverer, his finances had finally reached a comfortable plateau for the first time in his life; he had been able to pay off his outstanding debts and created a savings account with the royal bank. But even if he did have enough coin on hand, he wouldn't have the slightest idea where to start or where to go to buy fine jewels for a girl (read: princess) like Anna without getting ripped off or looking like a fool.

They run through a few more suggestions– some rouge for her lips, a bottle of perfume, silk hair ribbons, a painted and framed portrait of himself lying naked on a fur pelt for her bedroom wall– before the burly man sighs in defeat.

"She's a princess," he groans. "There isn't anything I could get her that she doesn't already have."

Sven raises an eyebrow.

" _Except_ the portrait idea," Kristoff clarifies with a roll of his eyes. "But I am _not_ doing that."

He kicks his foot in the dirt and shoves his hands in his pockets. If he wasn't crabby before, he is now.

Then, as if summoned by his thoughts, a certain ginger-haired princess pops her head into the stable.

"Oh, there you are!"

Anna bounces up to him, her braids trailing behind her from the exertion of her steps. Kristoff notes that she's wearing her green dress today; his personal favorite, although she doesn't know that because he's never had guts enough to tell her.

Communicating any sort of emotion or vulnerability is difficult for him, he's come to realize. Even something as simple as a preferable outfit.

Then again, she'd look radiant in _anything_ , even if she was dressed in nothing a flour sack. The thought of his princess nude save for a thin, short cloth has him swallowing thickly as he banishes the image from his mind.

"I've been looking for you," she announces when she reaches him, stopping just shy of standing toe-to-toe, separated only by the half-door of the stall. A subtle blush graces her cheeks upon making eye contact with him, the only evidence that last night's kiss still affected her as much as it still affected him. As if to distract herself, she reaches out and gives Sven's fuzzy muzzle a rub with the heel of her palm. The reindeer's tail thumps against the wall happily and he gives Kristoff a look with his big, brown eyes that seems to say, " _If you don't tell her, then_ I _will._ "

When she's done showering Sven with attention, the princess leans forward on her elbows on the ledge of the Dutch door and props her chin in both of her hands, her turquoise eyes fixed on Kristoff.

"I was thinking we could go into town today."

"For what?"

Her eyes glint with mischief. "For stuff."

He loves that glint, but is still wary. "Stuff?"

"Yeah, _stuff_."

As it turns out, the princess' idea of _stuff_ is a lot less terrifying than he anticipated. With her birthday less than a month away, Anna wanted to do some reconnaissance on fashionable party dress styles so that she would have an idea of what to tell the royal seamstresses when they came to make her own dress.

What better way to achieve inspiration than through window shopping?

"Can you believe I'll be _nineteen years old?_ " she coos as excitedly as she can about anything, seeing as this will be her first real birthday party since she was a child.

"I _can't_ believe it, actually," the ice master replies sarcastically. "You barely act a day over twelve."

This earns him a playful punch in the arm.

"I haven't had a proper birthday party for as long as I can remember." Her voice has taken on a dreamy tone and her eyes are starry. "How did you celebrate your nineteenth birthday, Kristoff?"

The man addressed by name snorts. "If I could remember, I'd tell you."

"That's a fair point," she says. "I mean, if it was _anything_ like your twenty-second birthday…"

The memory causes Anna to giggle, and Anna's giggle causes Kristoff to smile. His birthday that spring was the first time Kristoff (or anyone) had seen Anna get absolutely _plastered_. And it was hilariously awesome.

Hilariously awesome _except_ for the part where Anna spent the last few hours of the night vomiting into a chamber pot in her room and crying about how sweet and cute and great he was, and how sorry she was for ruining his birthday, while Kristoff held her hair out of her face, rubbed soothing circles on her back, and tried not to crack too many jokes at her expense until she fell asleep. Overall, it was equal parts horrifying, awkward, and adorable, and not the greatest way to end the party.

If there was a such thing as a "Best Boyfriend Award," he probably wouldn't win it, but he'd come damn close.

Kristoff follows along obediently, alternating between nonchalantly resting his knuckles on his hips (in a way that he secretly hopes makes him look cool) and crossing his arms over his chest, as his princess _oohs_ and _aahs_ at the different window displays, offering his opinion when asked but content to just watch her enjoy herself.

"What about this one?"

Kristoff scrunches his face at the pink-and-violet satin number on the mannequin and Anna gives him a good-natured tweak on the nose in agreement.

"That one's out, then."

She points out a black velvet gown with long sleeves that doesn't look suitable at all for the summer heat.

" _Woof._ What do you think of this one?"

"Who died?"

"Who knows, maybe black is my color."

"Yeah, and maybe mine's purple."

Anna hums a sardonic hum. "Maybe."

It's after they've passed the fifth or sixth shopfront that two tiny fists suddenly ball in the fabric of Kristoff's collar, catching him off guard and yanking him down into a dark alley with her. He's shoved roughly against the brick wall of a building, wincing when pain blossoms at the back of his skull from contact with the stone, but the hurt is utterly forgotten when Anna's lips smash against his own. Her tongue pushes into his mouth and flails against his with wanton abandon, and Kristoff has to brace himself against the brick behind him to keep from floating away or fainting or falling or somehow accomplishing all three simultaneously.

She's never kissed him like this before. It's needy and desirous and needy and sexy and just straight up full of unabashed, unabated _need_. Before his brain can respond and tell him that this is a bad idea, that he needs to stop her and _tell her_ that this is a bad idea, his hands are wrapping around Anna's back and gripping her tightly to him, holding on for dear life as he deepens the kiss that is already too deep.

She cups his jaw with one hand, her short, clean fingernails digging into the flesh of his cheek, and her other hand finds purchase on his shoulder for support as she hikes a leg up to wrap around his waist, bunching the material of the layers of her skirts between them. Kristoff damns those layers for getting in the way. He's desperate to feel her hot center against him as he claims her mouth with his, and runs his calloused palms up her covered spine and along her shoulder blades, wanting to touch as much of the plane of her back as possible.

His bottom lip gets sucked ever-so-gently between her teeth, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to the ice man's groin and pulling a growl from the back of his throat, and _where in Valhalla did she learn that?_

Just as his mind is about to shut off completely and let his libido take over, he feels the pace of their makeout session change, slowing gradually until he can sense that the end is near.

When she breaks the kiss with a _pop_ , Kristoff is breathless and he can feel the ground beneath his feet once more. He's thankful that she has more self-control than he does; had he been the one to initiate it, the kiss could've easily gone on forever and ever.

"What was that for?"

" _That_ was for last night." Her smile is devilish. He reluctantly unwraps her leg from around him and peels her hands off of his neck and shoulder. The skin burns where her touch lingered a little too long.

"I've created a monster."

She lets out a laugh at his words and turns her eyes downward, tucking a stray hair behind her ear with her fingertips. It's then that she notices, for perhaps the first time ever, the evident bulge in his pants, and licks her lips in a way that Kristoff interprets as lasciviously, as though she's contemplating something, but before she can finish her thought Kristoff is grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her out of the alley, back into the light of day and the bustle of the square before she can protest.

Getting to second (or even third) base with Arendelle's Crown Princess in an alley in broad daylight is most definitely _not_ on the agenda for the day.

No one around them seems to have noticed or been otherwise disturbed by the pair's sudden disappearance and reemergence, much to the ice master's relief. It takes all of Kristoff's willpower to force the hardness between his legs to recede as they continue down the street, Anna humming and grinning victoriously at his side all the way.


	3. Chapter 3

He decides on a romantic picnic as the opportune setting to tell Anna of his feelings for her.

He has the entire thing planned for days in advance. On the day of, Kristoff takes his princess by the hand and leads her to the cliffs at the back of the castle grounds on the northwest side, between the rows of apple trees beside the lighthouse overlooking the fjord and the sea beyond, where Sven is waiting with a basket of food and a blanket, swishing his tail back-and-forth with giddy excitement.

Anna is pleasantly surprised, as he had hoped, and she rewards Kristoff with a happy gasp and a kiss on his stubbly cheek before settling in on the blanket. Kristoff sits down beside her and crosses his legs, placing a large hand on either knee.

"This view is incredible. I've never really spent enough time out here," Anna muses aloud as she helps herself to a sandwich from the basket Sven has placed on the ground before her. The animal plops down on his furry butt beside the princess, eagerly awaiting his chance at the food.

"Why not?"

Anna shrugs with a little rise and fall of her shoulders. "As a kid, the light of the lighthouse sorta scared me. I thought it was a giant demon or something that drew ships into the fjord to eat them."

Kristoff chuckles. "I can't imagine you ever being scared of anything."

Her fearlessness is one of the many things he admires about his princess.

Anna flips her hair over her shoulder (she's wearing it down in loose waves today and Kristoff loves, loves, _loves_ it) and shoots him a sideways look. "I've been scared before. I'm actually afraid of a lot of things."

Kristoff takes a bite of his sandwich and returns her look with a skeptical one of his own. He finds her claims hard to believe. "Like what?"

The princess takes a moment to think, chewing slowly, lowering the remainder of her sandwich to her lap as she ponders. Sven nudges her with his nose and she gladly gives what's left of the meat and bread to him. He swallows it in one bite.

"Well, for starters, I'm afraid of the dark."

"You're lying."

"It's true," she insists with a laugh. "I'm better about it now, but as a kid I always thought there were goblins under my bed ready to eat my feet as soon as the lights went out."

"You seemed to have believed that hungry monsters were _way_ more commonplace than they really are."

"Yeah," Anna hums. "I don't know where I picked up such an irrational fear."

Kristoff thinks it must have something to do with the way her parents, the former monarchs, instilled such fear in the little princesses and locked them away from the outside world for years; after all, they made Elsa believe she was a dangerous monster, so it sort of makes sense that Anna would grow up to be afraid of monsters, but he says nothing. Instead, he finishes the last bite of his sandwich and takes a swig of wine straight from the bottle before holding it out to her. She takes it graciously and downs a generous sip.

"You sure you're gonna be okay when I leave tomorrow? You know I'll be out on the harvest for at least a week."

"Oh yeah, I'll be fine." She dismisses his concerns easily with a wave of her hand. "I'm not so afraid anymore, especially now that I know Elsa can protect me with her _ice powers._ "

She bobs her head for an exaggerated dramatic effect as she says the words, but Kristoff's heart sinks anyway and he tries not to let the disappointment show on his face.

"I can protect you, too, you know."

Anna's face sombers and she blinks. "I know. And you have."

"But that's what _I'm_ scared of," he confesses suddenly. "Something happening to you, and I'm not here to save you. I still have nightmares of you, frozen, out on the fjord..."

He grabs her hands in his and lifts his eyes to hers.

"I'd _never_ let _anything_ happen to you." His heart palpitates and his voice drops an octave lower. "Well, never _again_ , anyway."

"I know." The princess leans forward and plants a quick peck on his cheek. She knows she can very well take care of herself, but figures that now may not be the best time to argue. Besides, he's being just too sweet.

Kristoff pulls his hands away and coughs into a closed fist then, clearing his throat (albeit rather nervously) to signal that the time has come. Sven takes the hint and trots off, but not before giving his human friend a wink and a purr and snatching another sandwich for himself.

"Anna, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

She perks up at this, sitting up straighter on her knees and laying her hands across her lap. He rubs the back of his head sheepishly, uncomfortable with having her undivided attention so instantaneously focused on him, her perfect blue eyes locked on him with tempered interest.

"I… "

He prays to Odin for the strength to say the words that stick on his tongue like honey.

"I lo… "

Anna watches him expectantly as he struggles. A sound like a choked gurgle escapes his throat and the princess raises a quizzical brow in concern.

"I lov… like…"

Sighing, he gives up, and his shoulders slump with the defeat of it.

"I like… ice."

Anna blinks at him once. Twice. She cocks her head. "You wanted to tell me that you like ice?"

Kristoff can feel the color of his face change, but he's not sure whether he's blushing or paling. "Yeah… I like ice."

The princess nods slowly, pursing her lips sarcastically as if she's considering the severity of this new development with great care and seriousness. But the facade doesn't hold for long when a lopsided grin breaks out across her visage.

Suddenly she's laughing at the absurdity of it all, and he's laughing too, and she's falling into him, and he's falling backwards, and then they're together on the ground, laughing.

As they both come down from their respective fits of hysteria, Kristoff is painfully aware of the swell of her breasts pressed against his chest, the warm knee in between his thighs, nuzzling against his groin, which inches to life ever so subtly. He misses the music of her laugh. At least it had distracted him from being too attuned to her palms flat against his pecs, or the torturously warm weight of her body atop his, or her hot breath ghosting across his neck.

He tries to focus on the late afternoon sun that has begun to set over her shoulder, washing the inlet in yellow-orange light, but to no avail.

His gaze trails up, his brown eyes meeting her blues, and the look he sees there is undeniably lusty.

"Kristoff," she says, in that perfect way she says his name. He can feel her heart beat faster against his chest.

Before she can utter his name again, his mouth is crushed to hers. Their lips and tongues move together in sync, this way and that, and she pants needily into his mouth, her aroused response only serving to heighten the passion building between them.

With a daring hand, he reaches up and palms a single breast through the fabric of her bodice for the first time, and she moans his name into their kiss in a way that she has never said anything before. The sound arrows straight to his groin with a rush of blood.

His hands travel down her stomach, up her sides, and back down again, reveling in the warm softness of her before finally coming to rest on her hips. He gives the flesh there a squeeze and Anna breaks away from his mouth and gasps, her nails raking over his arms, and when he flexes his own hips up against hers she whimpers and _God_ , he's never been more turned on before in his life. He repeats the motion, pushing his hard length against her heat and the sensation shoots to the base of his spine and causes him to shudder. She shudders as well and inhales sharply and fists her hands in his hair.

"Kristoff," she breathes with a gyration of her hips. Followed by another. And another. The friction is pleasurable and sends a jolt through each of their bodies with each stroke that presses his back further into the blanket.

It's a new sensation, for both of them, and the clothes they're wearing are quickly becoming more and more cumbersome with each passing second, serving as a barrier between them that Kristoff wishes was gone. Anna seems to reach the same conclusion at the same time and her hot hands slip under his shirt and climb up his torso, leaving ticklish trails that bring the nerve endings there to life in their wake. Her fingertips brush over a sensitive nipple and now it's Kristoff's turn to gasp, involuntarily bucking his hips upwards and _hard_ into Anna's lap. Placing both hands firmly on her rear to reestablish himself, he relishes in the feel of the malleable globes in his grip and grabs her tighter, forcing her against him as closely as possible as he rhythmically grinds up against her and she writhes atop him to match his movements, moaning.

Anna buries her face in the crook of his neck and lets out a sound like a sob, kissing and nibbling at the skin below his ear to try to stifle her mewls as they come in rapid succession. He's never heard anything more beautiful in his life and he wants nothing more than to do whatever it takes to pull more of those delicious sounds from his princess.

It's then that Kristoff realizes that, if they don't stop now, he's going to end up doing something he'll regret.

But how could he ever regret _that?_ With _her?_ With Anna, the woman he loves, whose hands are currently heading south of his navel with intention, her fiery, dancing fingers brushing past the line of fine hairs and dipping just below the waist of his trousers.

 _Stop._

 _Stop, stop, stop._

 _Stopstopstopstopstop._

His brain finally manages to make the connection with his mouth.

"Stop," he squeaks out loud. "Stop. Stop. Stop."

Kristoff can feel her body tense immediately atop him. Her hands freeze and she pulls back and looks down at him, petrified, as if she's worried that she hurt him.

"Did I do something wrong?" She wets her lips nervously with her tongue. Her breasts heave up and down from the effort of her breathing, the tops of them glimmering with a thin sheen of perspiration and threatening to tumble out of her bodice, and Kristoff is tempted to just jump right back in where they left off.

"No, no, you're amazing," he promises, brushing her hair away from her face with the back of a hand. His other hand has moved up from the fleshy roundness of her bottom to rest rather gentlemanly on the small of her back. He's already missing the feeling of her grinding against his need with her own and wonders if he hasn't made a huge mistake.

"Then, why can't we…"

"This is the wrong order of things, isn't it?"

He hasn't even said "I love you" yet. It's supposed to be love, then marriage, then babies– not the complete other way around.

 _Whoa_ , who said marriage?

And babies?

She's confused. "I guess. Maybe?"

He sighs and cards his fingers through his hair. "I'm afraid that… if we go too far… I won't be able to stop myself."

Anna's frown deepens slightly. "Oh."

The sight of her pouty lips makes him want to take those lips between his teeth and suck on them until she's moaning his name again. Maybe even her _other_ lips, as well. His desire for her still pulses dangerously at the apex of his legs, pressing against her own cloth-covered thigh. Boy, is he gonna be sore tomorrow.

Her face is scrunched precariously at their predicament (his face probably looks no better), and they're both left unsatisfied, and he wants to tell her that he loves her, but the words catch in his throat, and the moment is ruined anyway, and he settles instead for placing a tender kiss atop the crown of her head as she snuggles into him, sighing as the sky turns blood-red and then deep violet around them.


	4. Chapter 4

After wrapping up their picnic supplies, Kristoff escorts Anna to her room. She kisses him goodnight, as usual, but he can tell by the way her lips tremble that she's trying to hold something back.

When she pulls away, she looks at him as though there's a question on the tip of her tongue that she wants to ask, but she hesitates and disappears into her bedroom instead, shutting the door behind her with a _click_. Kristoff watches the door for a moment, unsure of what to do with himself, before traipsing down the hall to his own chamber.

He dreams of her later that night, after their little rendezvous has left his gut (and pants) feeling uncomfortably tight.

But it's not the one in his cabin. This time, he dreams of her in the hot springs not far from the Valley of the Living Rock. The dream always goes the same way: he strips her down, untying and unlacing and unbuttoning and shimmying off her many layers before he lays her beside the steaming pool, where he feasts between her legs until he's had his fill, and then plunges into her over and over while she cries out his name.

But not this time.

This time, _she_ was the one taking control, stripping her clothes off teasingly in front of him, laying him down beside the pool, taking him in her mouth before sinking herself onto his length and riding him into oblivion.

It causes him to awaken with the hardest erection he can ever remember having, his cock throbbing painfully as it strains up toward his navel.

He sets to work for the umpteenth time since he's started having nightly visions of her, pushing the waistband of his woollen sleep pants down over his hip bones. His member springs free, and he takes it in his grasp with a newfound urgency as images of the princess wanton and lustful and keening play out behind his eyelids.

He's almost there, biting his lip to silence his moans as his hand furiously works his shaft, when the sound of the door to his bedroom creaking open causes his hand to freeze and the blood in his veins to turn to ice.

There, across the room, her wide blue eyes illuminated in the moonlight, stands the source of his desire in the flesh. His princess. Anna.

He expects her to shriek in disgust, or flee from the room in fear, or call him out on his sinful nature, or even pretend she didn't see anything and start casually conversing with him about whatever it is that's on her mind that brought her to his room at such an ungodly hour.

Instead, she does the last thing he would've ever expected: she pads forward with purpose, her bare feet tapping quietly on the marble floor, and climbs into bed with him. On top of him.

"An–"

He tries to say her name, but the word is swallowed by her eager mouth on his. She half-straddles him, the fabric of her shift bunching about her hips as her legs clamp around his thigh. A small hand reaches down between them, without shame or trepidation, and grips his hot organ, displacing his own hand and eliciting a groan from Kristoff.

He rips his mouth away from the princess and somehow manages to speak a coherent sentence. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know," she whispers, her eyes boring into his. She pulls back a bit and sits on the balls of her feet on his bed, resting her bum on his knee, evidence of his desire for her pulsing in her hand. "I couldn't sleep either. I was going to make a joke about being afraid of the dark, but– this is totally crazy, right?"

Yes, yes it is.

He swallows with an audible gulp and tries to remember how to breathe.

"Is this… is this alright?" Her own voice is breathless with anticipation. "Is this what you want?"

 _Gods_ , yes. Yes, it is.

Kristoff inhales sharply. When he speaks, his voice is strained: "No… yes… I don't know."

His brain turns to mush then as she strokes him in one languid, upward tug that's torturously drawn out and causes him to hiss from behind closed teeth.

That's all the confirmation Anna needs as she grips him a little tighter, pumps him a little faster, her tiny, pale fist contrasting against the angry, veiny thickness of his erection.

He's never had another hand on him like this. Not even the Sami girl he'd crushed on and kissed once as a teenager had ever come close to this kind of intimacy. But to have _Anna's_ hand wrapped around him, gripping him, of all the hands in the world…

The skin of her palm is incredibly soft compared to his own calloused, work-hardened hands, and feels better than anything he could have ever imagined; that thought alone sets his body on fire as he races toward the finish, giving up and giving in to her ministrations of his cock.

Kristoff lets loose some choice expletives, the words tumbling from his lips as he throws his head back in pleasure, then tilts his head forward once more to watch her with a sort of masochistic fascination.

The tip of her tongue is trapped between her teeth as she works him, her eyebrows furrowed, focused on him and him alone. Her breasts bounce lightly from the effort of her movements. Her nipples are peaked in the cool air of the room and they stand at attention, visible through the sheer fabric of her nightgown. They entice him, taunting him, and he wishes more than anything to pull one of those tight buds between his teeth. He longs to reach out, to touch her, to pleasure her, to be _inside_ her.

Even through the haze of what she's doing to him, he can feel her white-hot center permeating him, focused on a single spot on his skin where she sits, the heat of her seeping into his leg and scalding him as she kneels with one knee on either side of his thigh. Every now and then she shifts slightly, leaning to favor one side or another, inadvertently rubbing herself against him as she works, and when he closes his eyes he swears he can feel her dampening, soaking through the fabric of her undergarments. He imagines how easily he could pull the flimsy material aside and push himself inside her wet, snug core and it's nearly his undoing.

A sound like a whimper bubbles in his chest and escapes from him, egging her on as she increases her pace, squeezing him tighter in her fist as she pumps from base to head and back again, becoming even more frantic in her determination to finish him off.

He chokes out a cry. "Anna, I'm going to–"

He fails to warn her in time and spasms in her hand, his body pulling taut and abdominal muscles convulsing with euphoric contractions as a forearm flies up to cover his face. The creamy essence of him spurts forth in bursts and coats the princess' fingers, which are still curled around his weeping member as it begins to wilt in her hold.

When Kristoff stops trembling and huffing through the aftershock of his orgasm, Anna pulls her hand away from him and inspects it; her knuckles are covered in the sticky substance, and Kristoff catches the way she fans and flexes her fingers, curiously testing its consistency.

"C'mere."

He slips his sweat-soaked night shirt over his head and uses it to clean Anna's hand and then himself as best as he can, wiping off most of his essence before tossing the damp material to the floor and pulling her against him. She settles in easily into the crook of his arm, sighing contentedly, her small body molding against his expansive chest and muscular thighs as though she were made to be there. She fits perfectly.

"Was that good?"

She bites her lip and trails a lazy circle around his belly button with her fingertip. His stomach flutters, extra sensitive in the aftermath of his climax. He tips her chin up, forcing her to look at him, and brings his face down to hers to kiss her lovingly.

"That was _great_."

She's quiet for a minute.

"You'll be back in time for my birthday, right?" Her voice ghosts across his nipple, the breath of her question rustling the sparse golden hairs of his pecs.

Kristoff kisses the top of her head. "Of course."

An entire week. Seven whole days without his Anna. How could he leave her now, after the wonderful gift she had just given him?

He's gone harvesting before, plenty of times, but never for an entire week. The longest they'd been apart since he moved into the castle was only three days, and that was originally supposed to be a five-day trip, but was cut short due to bad weather.

Now, heading into the peak of the hot summer months and ahead of Anna's birthday and the Midsummer Eve celebration, Kristoff has to ensure that this delivery has more than enough ice to last. The thought occurs to him that not only will this be Anna's first real birthday party, but her first Midsummer festival as well.

He has to figure out a way to make it as special as possible for her.

He breaks from his reverie just in time to see her eyelids slip closed, heavy with tiredness. Her hair is a tangled rat's nest of auburn knots splayed over his chest and shoulder that rustles slightly as she shifts and her breathing slows. Within moments she's snoring softly, and a few more moments later he follows suit.

He figures that asking the trolls for advice may not be a bad idea. Or at least, it couldn't hurt. Well, it _could_ hurt, but that doesn't matter because it still may not be a bad idea. They are love experts, after all.

When he tells his family that he loves the princess and is going to tell her so, they all cheer in unison. His adoptive mother looks particularly pleased, and her eyes light up as she waddles over to Kristoff, who kneels down in the grass to accommodate her height.

"So, you've already got the ring?" Her stony hands are clasped together, her face hopeful.

Kristoff blinks at her. "The what?"

A ring? As in, to propose marriage with? He hasn't even considered marriage yet. His hands go clammy.

"Uhhh…"

"You mean you don't plan to propose?" Bulda is taken aback by her son's lack of foresight. She taught him better than this.

"One step at a time," Kristoff half-laughs nervously, holding up a gloved hand. "I need to tell her that I love her first."

Bulda huffs and puts her fists on her hips. "Well, why haven't you?"

"I… can't."

His adoptive father, Cliff, snorts from beside him and throws his arms up. "Whaddaya mean you can't? Ya just _say 'I love you!'"_

A few of the other trolls murmur in agreement. Some of them even hug each other just at the mention of the word "love."

"Do you love her?"

"Yes."

"Want to be with her forever?"

"Yes."

"Think about her all the time?"

"Miss her when she's gone?"

"Want to massage her feet?"

"Yes, yes– uh, maybe?"

Bulda holds her hands out in a questioning gesture. "Then what's the issue, dear?"

"Yeah, kid, what's the matter? Got cold feet already?" Cliff snorts again.

Kristoff definitely knows where he gets his attitude from.

"Well, _yeah_." The blonde man gestures to his snow boots. No one laughs.

"Get it? Because I'm an ice harvester? So I'm out on the ice all the– you know what, nevermind."

His legs are starting to cramp so he straightens up to stand. Little Rock hops up on another troll's shoulders then, wearing a wig made of orange grasses and his face smeared with red mud to emulate a woman's makeup.

"Here, pretend I'm Anna," he squeaks, puckering his tiny face. "How would you tell me?"

"Oh come on, I'm not doing this."

"Just play along!"

Kristoff groans. This is stupid. But he tries anyway, turning to look Little Rock directly in his round, dark eyes. It makes him nervous and he sputters.

"Anna, I… lo-loaf you."

"'Lo-loaf you?'"

"What's that?"

"I lo-loaf you, too!"

Kristoff groans and covers his face with a hand. "I told you I can't do this!"

"She already knows." It's Grand Pabbie.

Kristoff whips around, bewildered. "She does?"

Pabbie raises an eyebrow at his grandson. "You raced down a mountain and across a frozen tundra to give her away to another man to save her life. A girl picks up on these kinds of things."

Kristoff's face turns sheepish. "But I still want to tell her."

"You _do_ love her?"

"Yes. I do."

"But you can't tell her?"

Kristoff shakes his head sadly.

The elder troll sighs. "Maybe you should go take a relaxing soak in the hot springs."

The ice man gulps and pulls at the collar of his tunic. "I'd rather not."

"Here." Pabbie presses a ring into his palm. It's made of twined grass and stone and a single glowing purple crystal as the solitaire. "When the time comes, you'll know."

Kristoff leaves with the ring in his pocket and more questions than answers swirling around his head.


	5. Chapter 5

"I missed you."

Her voice is a ticklish whisper in his ear when she hugs him. If it weren't for Elsa standing right behind her, the princess probably would've tackled him to the floor and _shown_ him how much she meant her words. The desire is radiating off of her in tangible waves that Kristoff can pick up on only too easily; he hopes Elsa is much less attuned to her sister's current state. Regardless, Kristoff makes a mental note to have a discussion with the princess later about the importance of discretion.

Anna slips her hand into his and gives it a simple, reaffirming squeeze as she moves to stand beside him. When Kristoff turns his head to smile at her, however, his smile falters: she has a glint in her eye, _that_ glint, along with something else. Something darker.

"Welcome home, Kristoff." The queen gives him a small smile. "I hope the harvest wasn't too difficult."

This is the first time she's referred to the castle as his home. Normally she just says "welcome back."

"Eh," he shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. "Not any more than usual."

"Are you tired?"

"A little." His voice wavers slightly with suspicion. She's asking more questions than usual, which is normally zero. Weird.

"We have some… important guests coming for dinner, so I recommend you rest up for the next few hours." There's a warning to her voice that scares him, makes him uneasy. Her hands are twitching as she folds them, one over the other, in front of herself. They've never had guests for dinner before.

"I'll escort him to his room," Anna offers instantaneously and with gusto, wrapping herself around Kristoff's left arm. Elsa raises her pale eyebrows at her sister and then Kristoff, but says nothing, nodding once to indicate her acquiescence– as if Anna needed her permission anyway.

"I wasn't kidding," Kristoff protests as Anna practically drags him up three flights of stairs and follows him over the threshold and into his bedchamber, shoving him with her palms pushing flat against his chest. The room is dim and gray, reminiscent of the overcast afternoon outside. "I really am exhausted."

"So you've said."

This causes the ice master to crack an involuntary smile. God, how he's missed his crazy princess.

Kristoff has just enough time to reach behind Anna, grasp the doorknob, and pull it closed before her lips are on his, kissing him like mad and sucking the breath from his lungs.

He really _should_ take a nap.

But then again, he probably couldn't sleep right now if he tried.

She's popping off her shoes as they stumble backward, tossing them over her shoulder, sending the dainty leather slippers flying in opposite directions. Her cropped vest follows soon after, the embroidered and appliqued flowers twirling through the air as she shrugs it off. They take a few more clumsy steps until Kristoff's knees hit the back of the bed and he tumbles down onto it, dragging Anna with him, their lips never parting.

Anna pulls away from him long enough to straighten up, straddling his lap as he scoots backwards to sit with his shoulders resting against the headboard, her skirts settling over and around him. She shimmies out of her blouse, revealing her white, sleeveless chemise and freckled shoulders, and tosses it carelessly to the floor beside the bed before returning to his mouth, clasping her hands on either side of his face for leverage as she litters his lips and chin with moist, desirous kisses.

She's putting her devices on him, and Kristoff has the slightest inkling that seven days apart has left Anna with more than enough time to ruminate on their recent escapades and plan for whatever this is going to be.

She shifts on top of him and something pointy pokes the side of his thigh. He remembers the ring in his pocket, and feels a stab of guilt; he may not be able to confess his love outright, and he may not be ready to propose just yet, but he thinks that the least he should do is offer her some sort of commitment before they go any further. Some sort of reassurance that this is more than simply physical, it's metaphysical, physiological, that together they're two people who feel very strongly for one another and aren't just primitive animals rutting in heat.

Kiss. "Anna–"

Another kiss.

"Anna, wait–"

She's too wrapped up in him to notice his reluctance and the way the thick, masculine fingers currently gripping her upper arms tighten like a vice. She's ravenous, tearing at his clothes and raking her nails across his chest in a way that makes him shudder. Her tongue darts across his lower lip deliciously and he has to bite back a moan as he clings to the last shred of his restraint.

"Anna, _wait_ ," he forces out with a hamfisted breath, pushing her off and away from him with his hands on her shoulders. "I need you to understand something first, before we… before we continue."

Anna notices at last the way he trembles when she gazes down at him, his tense forearms shaking with the strain of holding her back, despite the fact that she isn't putting up any sort of fight or giving any type of resistance.

He steels himself and wills his voice to stabilize. "I want you… like this... _physically,_ because I… I care about you. I care about you– a _lot–_ and I want you to know that I've... I've never done this– _anything_ like this… not with… before… because..."

He still can't say it, can't just come out and confess to her that he loves her, but he can tell that he's getting close. It's more frustrating than relieving.

She's never seen her handsome Sami man so vulnerable before, so emotional, and it makes her heart melt. He sighs heavily, lifting his tawny irises to meet her own glittering turquoise orbs as she watches the emotions play out across his face with thinly-veiled curiosity at this incredibly sensitive new side of him. She hopes she looks more attentive than anything.

"Anna… tell me you understand. I need you to understand."

Anna's face is serious, severe, as she ponders his words. Of course she understands. Everything he does he does for _her_ , and she does the same for him. But it's more than that, somehow. He awakened something in her with his kiss, awakened something in both of them; an outlet for the emotions they've been long overdue to express to and with one another.

"I understand." Then, she halts any further doubts before he can voice them with a tender kiss and a revelation whispered against his cheek: "I love you, Kristoff."

When she pulls back, her eyes are clear and bright, and he pauses briefly to allow her words to sink into his psyche before he resumes kissing her, hungrily; this time, there's no holding anything back.

With one arm, he inverts them, pinning the princess beneath him as he grinds down against her with a roll of his hips. Her own hips buck upward, meeting his in a way that causes both of them to moan in unison.

There's no need for Anna to tell him what she wants when she reaches down and begins working at the clasps and buttons of her skirt. Within seconds she's flailing her legs, kicking the offending material off in a flurry of petticoats. With some difficulty, her chemise follows soon after. Kristoff is desperate to feel her bare skin on his own and he leans back to yank his rough-hewn tunic over his head, throwing it behind him to join the other discarded articles in a forgotten heap on the floor.

When he looks back down at his princess, she's lying there, on his bed, in nothing but her stockings and drawers.

Or, at least, she would be– if she were wearing any drawers.

"You're not wearing underwear," he states stupidly, as if it isn't obvious.

Anna shrugs and blushes beneath his gaze. Her quiet voice is like a ghost and her fingertips reach up to tentatively touch the exposed skin of his sternum as she refuses to look at him, eyeing a spot between his pecs instead. "They're uncomfortable. And restrictive. I don't like wearing them."

His crazy, beautiful, perfect princess.

The desire in the pit of his abdomen is boiling now, turning his blood turning to liquid fire as it races through his veins and straight to the point between his legs. He takes a moment to steal a long, appreciative look at her body, completely bared to him for the first time: she's petite, and slim, but fleshy in all the right places. The crests of her shoulders and bosom are covered with a smattering of freckles, and his gaze trails from the gorgeous dip of her collarbone, to the pair of rose-colored peaks on her chest, to the curve of her waist, to the patch of russet hair between her hips, to her pale, slender legs sheathed in dark silk.

The sight of her makes his breath quicken and pants tighten, but he decides then and there that he's going to focus solely on his princess and take care of _her_ needs this time; to give her the same pleasure she had given him.

His hand hovers precariously above her navel as his eyes bore into hers. "Tell me to stop if this isn't okay."

She nods. "I will." And then: "I trust you."

She loves him. She trusts him. His heart swells at the confirmation.

With a purposeful gesture, Kristoff brings his hand down, over her heat, and firmly presses his calloused fingertips against her quim. The contact shoots through her body like lightning and she shudders beneath him, expelling the air from her lungs all at once.

When she doesn't stop him, he begins to rub, applying a light pressure, moving the tips of his fingers in a circular pattern that feels right, natural. He's never done this before, so he's not entirely sure of what he's doing, but he's heard enough talk from the married men he's worked with out on the ice to have picked up a thing or two.

It seems to be working, as Anna draws in her lower lip between her teeth and tilts her head back and curls her toes. Her eyes are wide open, unwavering, burning a hole into the stucco of the ceiling, as if her only mission at that point is to both remember how to breathe and to process what's happening to her. To memorize this new sensation and file it away in her mind with the rest of her new life experiences.

A few minutes later she's squirming, gasping, digging the heels of her clothed feet into the mattress. She's probably going to rip her hose, but she doesn't give a damn about that at the moment.

"Kristoff, _please_." It's a plea and a command all in one.

She doesn't quite know what she wants, how to ask for it and put it into words that Kristoff can understand, but he already knows without her even trying. Without hesitation, he slips a digit into Anna's wetness and she's _warm_. _So_ warm. And tight. Her body tenses immediately, her inner muscles clamping down on the foreign intruder that is his finger, inadvertently drawing him into her just a little deeper.

He stills, giving her a moment to adjust to the feeling, before carefully pulling his digit out and pushing it back in again. She mewls and the sound rings in his ears like the most beautiful song.

Her lips are dry and she moistens them with her tongue. When she speaks her voice is hoarse and raw with need: " _More_."

Slowly, he repeats the movement, and the way Anna clenches her teeth and hisses his name and arches her back and balls the fabric of his duvet in her small fists is absolutely _transcendent_.

He's hasty in his ministrations now, pumping his finger in and out of her with increasing urgency. She pants and writhes beneath him, her body alternating between lifting and falling as the thrusts of his finger drive her towards an unknown destination.

Unable to help himself, Kristoff leans forward for a taste of her nipple, taking the hardened nub between his lips and suckling softly; her skin is sweet and salty and when he flicks his tongue over the hardened flesh his princess gasps and fists a hand painfully in his hair.

When he slides in a second finger alongside the first she shatters around the digits instantaneously, lips parted with a silent cry, her back rising off the bed as she comes undone against his hand. Kristoff involuntarily lets out a groan himself as he witnesses and feels every minutiae of her orgasm.

The sheen of perspiration on her skin shimmers in the dull light of the room as Anna comes down from her high, fingers loosening, body sinking, chest heaving, eyes focused on him and him only.

 _Oh_ ," she murmurs, as if to say, " _So,_ that's _what it's like._ "

When Kristoff pulls away there's a streak of bright red blood on his fingers, mixed in with her silky essence, and Kristoff wipes it on the leg of his trousers before she can notice. He's heard stories of maidens who bleed during their first time, and perhaps Anna has as well, but he doesn't want to worry his princess unnecessarily.

She doesn't notice, anyway, too dazed in her euphoric stupor as the twitchy aftershocks continue to ripple through her womb. Her eyes are lidded, sleepy and heavy with the aftermath of her climax and she gazes at her lover, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He can't help but smile back. She's so beautiful.

Kristoff notices the way her breathing is becoming more and more labored as she struggles to stay awake and gives her permission to give in to the exhaustion threatening her consciousness by way of pulling his princess close, tucking her against his side; soon enough, she's asleep. He listens to her breaths come and go in a steady rhythm, as he stares at a painted floret on the ceiling and waits for the butterflies in his stomach to calm, his mind completely placid, tranquil with nothing but thoughts of her.

–

 **A huge, incredible, infinite thank you to minnothebunny for her wonderful art inspired by this fic, which is now the new cover art! 3 Next chapter soon~**


	6. Chapter 6

They have their first fight later that night.

The problems start when Kristoff is shaken awake earlier that afternoon.

When he opens his eyes, the room has darkened considerably with the passage of time, and he finds himself face-to-face with the Ice Queen of Arendelle herself, who looks nothing short of absolutely _mortified_. He's about to make a comment about the strangeness of the queen being present in his personal chambers, when he remembers that he's currently half-naked and spooning with a fully-naked Crown Princess asleep in his arms, who also just so happens to be her younger sister.

So much for discretion.

"Well," Elsa quips, her lips thin and tight and skin paler than usual. "I should have figured that this should've been the _first_ place I checked when Anna wasn't in her room."

Kristoff grimaces, unsure of what to say. Blaming Arendelle's heir apparent and her insatiable curiosity and unchecked libido (it's truly all his fault, anyway) probably wouldn't be the best course of action.

"Yeah… erm… sorry about that."

Elsa simply inhales and exhales and shakes her head, the fabric of her midnight blue evening gown rustling faintly. The dress itself seems to glow, even in the dim grayness of the room, as if the light emanates from within its own threads.

"I hope you're planning to do right by my sister, at least."

He sputters. "W-what?"

"It's a joke." Then Elsa's face turns. "Wait, don't tell me you two– nevermind, I don't want to know." She waves her hands in front of her and squeezes her eyes shut, as if by doing so she can somehow shoo the concept of Kristoff deflowering her baby sister from her mind, but she's too late; everything she didn't want to know is painstakingly, obviously plastered across his face.

She speaks without looking at him again as she massages the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Rise and get dressed. Dinner will be served in an hour."

She gestures with a flick of her wrist towards the entwined pair as she turns to leave. "Wake her up as well, will you?"

When she disappears from his room in a sweep of silver hair and a cape, Kristoff gently nudges the slumbering princess.

"Anna," he coos softly. "Anna, wake up."

The sleeping woman only sighs and snuggles closer to him in her sleep, mumbling something about Olaf and summer. He notices then that the skin of his chest is damp with the puddle of drool she'd produced in her sleep. When he nudges her again, her eyes flutter open, and smiles when she recognizes her lover.

"It's you," she purrs, her eyes slipping closed once more.

Kristoff chuckles. "It's me. Who else would it be?"

She hums contentedly and shifts in the dip of his arm, dragging her hand down from his stomach and towards his belt with lazy intent; he snatches it away in the nick of time.

"Come on, feisty pants, can't be late for dinner."

Reluctantly, she rises from the bed and collects her clothes from where they've been strewn about the floor, but not before smothering his face in kisses for good measure. When she leaves, she practically floats out of the room.

Shortly thereafter, Kristoff rises as well, and dresses himself in his usual attire consisting of a cornflower-blue shirt, dark vest with brocade trim, and woollen pants tied off with a crimson sash. He considers his snow boots for a moment before deciding on a very sensible pair of loafers made from cow leather. When he finesses himself in the full-length floor mirror, he has to admit that he looks fairly respectable. Rather _dashing_ , actually. It's not his clothes that have changed, but perhaps _himself_ ; for the first time since moving into the palace, he feels content and deserving of his current lot in life, and waltzes into the dining hall with a newfound confidence.

Dinner is a total disaster.

When Kristoff enters the dining hall, all eyes turn to him; he stands out like a very, _very_ sore thumb, his street clothes a far cry from the finery of those seated around the long table. The stark contrast is even more apparent when he takes his seat beside Anna, who is dressed to the nines in a dinner gown of peridot-colored satin embroidered with blue and gold flowers. She even managed to brush and braid and pile her hair on top of her head in a fanciful updo, looking much more put together than a woman who had been sweaty and writhing in ecstasy on his bed mere hours earlier; only Kristoff notices the subtle way she's glowing, the shine in her eye when she gazes at him from behind her lashes.

Everyone else in the room is forgotten when she smiles at him as he sits down. With her by his side– both literally and figuratively– nothing else even matters.

After a brief round of introductions (during which Kristoff learns that the "important guests" are visiting dignitaries from foreign kingdoms), Arendelle's Official Ice Master and Deliverer manages to go almost the entire meal without being bothered.

During the smoked salmon and pickled herring course, however, things take a turn for the worst.

"So," the man introduced as the Earl of Orkney begins slyly, turning his steely gaze on Kristoff. He's an older man, in his 40s or 50s, at least, with shoulder-length dark hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and a pointed nose. He is easily as tall as Kristoff himself, but where Kristoff is burly and muscular, the Earl is lanky and slim. "The Ice Master of Arendelle. Kristofer, was it?"

"Ith Krithtoff," he slurs through a mouthful of potatoes. Then, remembering his manners, swallows his food and follows up with: "My lord."

The man's eyes widen slightly, amused. "How does one become the 'Ice Master'? I've never heard of such a thing."

Kristoff starts to shrug, then, remembering his manners once more, stops. "It's probably not a story that would interest you."

Unless cursed queens with ice powers, giant snow monsters, daring princesses, magical trolls, and royal coups are his thing.

The Earl flutters his eyelashes. "I suppose I'm simply curious as to how a man of your… _status…_ came to live in the castle?"

He pronounces the word in the most arrogant way possible: _state-us_. It makes Kristoff's blood go cold.

Luckily, Kristoff doesn't have to answer when Anna pipes up from her seat next to him: "He's the best at what he does, my lord. He's as deserving of his title and position as much as anyone here is as deserving of theirs."

 _This_ Anna, the Crown Princess of Arendelle, is majestic and controlled and so different from the Anna he knows in private. But it's still _her_ , and he loves her for being herself all the same.

"Ah, I see," the Earl hums thoughtfully, cracking a grin. "I was wondering why the queen would waste her time doling out such a silly, whimsical title, but now it's quite obvious that of course it was _your_ doing, my lady."

The condescension in his tone is not lost on any of them. Kristoff raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest, irritation rising in his words. "You'd dare insult the royal family when they're both sitting _right_ here?"

The skeletal man snaps his fingers in irritation. " _You'd_ do well to mind your station, _sir_."

Elsa glances at him from the side of her frightened doe-like eyes. Her voice is a stern, finite warning: " _Kristoff_."

Anna, however, recovers with grace. "My relationship with Kristoff has nothing to do with his position. He earned it, fair and square."

The Earl nods once, indicating that he has understood the princess– maybe a bit _too_ well– when he turns his head to address Kristoff again.

"You and Her Grace have not wed, have you not?"

Kristoff shakes his head warily. He doesn't like this man one bit. "No, we have not."

"Ah, so you _must_ be courting, then." His eyes glimmer with malice. He knows damn well they're not courting and is trying to play him for a fool. The entire table watches the exchange unfold in uncomfortable, muted anticipation.

The blonde man's lips are a flat, pressed line and he resists the urge to glance at the princess sitting to his left, instead keeping his eyes locked on the Earl as he answers him. "Not officially, no."

He's dealt with snooty elitist noblemen before, plenty of times, but this guy really takes the cake. Anna shifts beside him and takes his hand in hers underneath the table. Her palm is clammy and her fingers tremble. She knows all too well how important this is to Elsa. If he didn't know her as well as he does, he wouldn't understand how difficult it is for her to hold back her emotions at this time like this.

The queen tries to smooth the conversation over as diplomatically as possible. "My lord, we do realize that we are a bit _unorthodox_ here in Arendelle. Ever since the passing of the king and queen–"

"Yes, yes, _yes_ , of _course_ , I can see that you are quite unorthodox _very_ clearly, Your Majesty." The Earl interrupts Elsa rather rudely, and she seems to visibly shrink back and into herself from the confrontation. The apple of his neck bobs grotesquely from the effort of clearing his throat as he continues speaking. "But I _fail_ to see how having a member of the common folk live in such close proximity to the royal family, and allowing him unlimited and unsupervised access to the princess, merits defying conventions of propriety if they are not even agreed to court. It's _appalling_."

Kristoff is on his feet now, his chair scraping back loudly from the force of the movement. Anna is a vibrating, seething ball of silent fury beside him. _She_ might have to be on her best behavior, but no one ever said that _he_ has to; when he speaks, he speaks for all of them.

"Say what you will about me, but you will _not_ insult the queen _or_ question the princess' integrity. Not as long as you want to keep your teeth _inside_ of your mouth. _Capiche_?"

The Earl narrows his eyes to menacing slits. "I'm not questioning the princess' intentions as much as I'm questioning _yours_."

In the blink of an eye Anna flings herself across the table with a screech and a clatter of china, pulled back quickly and at the last second by Kristoff, her hands outstretched, the tips of her fingers curled ominously towards the Earl's throat as the chatter around the room reaches a deafening roar.

She's kicking back against Kristoff as his arms wrap around her waist from behind, shouting something along the lines of, "If it weren't for him, neither myself nor Elsa would even be _alive_ right now–" before her restrainer finally manages to get both of her feet back on the ground and usher her towards the door. Turning to address the shellshocked Earl one last time, Anna tips her chin up in a gesture that is both defiant and regal.

"Kristoff is a hero," she states definitively, proudly, matter-of-factly, her smalls fists clenching at her sides. "And _you_ , sir, are a _disgrace_."

By the time he catches up with Anna after chasing her for a few hallways, she's in tears.

"Damn him. _Damn him!_ "

He's only ever heard Anna curse twice: the first time was when she was drunk at his birthday party and got a splash of vomit on his shoes, and she'd slurred an almost incoherent, " _Shit_ , I'm _sooo_ sorry _._ " The only other time was when Anna and Elsa were arguing during one of their garden luncheons about whether or not they should reopen trade negotiations with Weaseltown. Always one to abhor strife, Elsa– in a bid to make peace– had made the claim that Weaseltown was one of their most important trade partners, and that without their allyship Arendelle may not be adequately prepared for the upcoming winter, based on how thoroughly they'd blown through their stores the previous season. Anna had snapped back with an affirmative " _Horseshit!_ " that caused the queen's face to blush redder than the roses around them.

She curses a third time with a stamp of her foot. "Damn them all!"

She's so angry, she's almost crying. In fact, she's downright _pissed off_. He's never seen her this mad. Not even when she punched what's-his-face after he tried to kill her sister and steal their kingdom.

Her voice is thick with barely subdued rage when she turns to speak to him at last, staring at the floor as she rubs her arms in an attempt to calm herself, comfort herself. "How can he just talk _down_ to you like that? Saying those horrible things..."

"He's right, you know."

Anna gapes at him. "Kristoff, how could you–"

He tips her face upward with a knuckle, forcing her to face him. He reaches his other hand up to hold her cheek in his palm and brushes away a single tear with the pad of his thumb.

"Anna, I want to court you."

Her brows furrow. "No, you don't."

" _No_ ," Kristoff says, a bit more insistently. "I really do."

"Kristoff," her voice wavers with emotion, "Don't do this just because you feel like you have to–"

"I'm not," he insists with a shake of his head. His thoughts flicker to the ring in the pocket of his trousers. "I wanted to wait for a better moment, but…"

His wrist twitches, but before he can even reach into his pocket she's up on her toes and throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him. With a new sense of urgency she reaches down and cups him through his clothing, sending a lightning bolt shooting down Kristoff's spine and straight to his groin.

"I meant what I said earlier," she breathes against his ear as her small hands make quick work of his belt. "I love you, Kristoff."

Before he can respond she's dropping to her knees in front of him, the skirt of her gown splaying about her as she kneels and yanks his britches down over his waist, his hips, her face level with his growing erection.

"Anna…"

"Let me do this," she pleads, gazing up at him with shimmering eyes. "Let me do this for you. Let me show you how much I love you."

"Anna, wait–"

She's not listening as her hands wrap around the shaft of his member tightly, gripping him as she brings the crown of his cock to her lips. She takes him in her mouth then and Kristoff's knees buckle and he instinctively lets out a moan. Having her mouth on him like this is easily the single most heavenly thing he's ever experienced.

But it's wrong. So wrong.

 _Himmel_ , help him.

He's relying heavily on the support of the wall behind him to stay upright. They're in the hallway where anyone could stumble upon them at any moment _in_ _flagrante delicto_. She's emotional, vulnerable, impulsive. It wouldn't be right to let her do this to him. Not here, not now.

"Not here," he gasps out between jolts of exhilarating pleasure. "Not like this."

He tries to pry her off but she holds fast to him as she laves his hot organ with her tongue, making small noises in the back of her throat that both thrill and terrify him. She licks him once from base to tip, his turgid erection straining against the pucker of her perfectly rosy lips, causing a shudder to run its course through his body before she repeats the action.

"Anna, stop–"

All he can think is,

 _No._

 _Not like this._

 _Not like this._

 _Not like this._

But each time he tries to push her away, she grips him tighter, takes him deeper. She slides down his shaft until he hits the back of her throat and gags before soldiering onward, continuing the ministrations of her lips and tongue and mouth on him, swallowing him, and Kristoff fears for his immortal soul if he doesn't put an end to this immediately.

In a final fit of desperation, he yanks the princess up roughly by her upper arm, forcing her to stand and face him as he shouts.

"I said _stop!_ " It comes out much harsher than he intended.

She stumbles for a second, swaying unsteadily on her feet, and the look she gives him then splinters his heart into a thousand pieces. She's mostly stunned, but she also looks… _hurt_. Rejected. Heartbroken.

But worst of all, his fearless, crazy princess looks _afraid_. And he's the cause of it.

Kristoff's face falls and he's never hated himself more than he does now. "Anna, I'm sorry."

Her eyes well with tears. She purses her swollen lips. She shakes her head. She takes a step back.

"Anna, please–" he reaches for her, but he grasps nothing but air as the last thing he sees before he crumbles to the floor is her back as she runs down the hall and away from him.

–

 **AAAAA I DID THE ANGSTY THING WHY DID I DO THE ANGSTY THING**


	7. Chapter 7

It's well after midnight (has been for awhile) and Kristoff sits with his knees bent as he leans against the outside of Anna's door. His clothes are wrinkled and his rear hurts from sitting on the hard floor and he's got this crick in his neck from staying in the same position for too long, but he couldn't possibly care less about any of that right now.

It's been a few minutes since he knocked last, so he tries again, rapping his knuckles softly against the painted wood.

"Anna?" His voice breaks for the millionth time that night. He's been fighting back the urge to bawl like a babe for hours. "Anna, it's me… still. Can you talk to me? Please?"

He hopes she isn't asleep. Her sniffling stopped about an hour ago and he'd hate for her to have gone to sleep so miserable because of him.

And on her birthday, no less.

He considers giving up and going to his room, to either cry into his pillow or try to fall asleep, or cry into his pillow until he falls asleep, but decides against it. He refuses to leave her like this.

"I'm not going anywhere until you're ready to talk," he states, firmly yet tenderly. "So, whenever you're ready… I'll be here."

After a few moments, he hears gentle footsteps from the other side of the door. And then, her voice: "Go to bed, Kristoff."

Her voice sounds tired beyond belief, and the sound of it squeezes his heart, but there's no conviction in her command.

"I'm sorry, Anna," he says solemnly, projecting his apology through the door. He turns his cheek and presses his face against the cool wood. "I should have never grabbed you like that. Or yelled at you."

She's silent for a beat, contemplating his words, before responding with a sigh. "No, Kristoff. _I'm_ the one who's sorry. I should've stopped when you wanted me to."

He can hear the regret in her words. He pictures her leaning her forehead against her side of the door, fiddling with the end of her braid, biting her lower lip.

"I shouldn't have been so forceful," she continues. "But when you… I thought you didn't want me… that you don't… _love_ me."

 _Of course I do_. But the words lodge in his throat and his heart sinks even further.

"How could you think that?" he says instead. "Anna, you're all I want… you're perfect."

And then: "...I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

It's almost a full-blown confession. Almost.

The door gives way then as it cracks open an inch, causing Kristoff to jolt and scramble to his feet with a start.

There, just behind the door, stands his princess, her beautiful blue eyes red and puffy and averted to avoid meeting his gaze.

Her freckled hand reaches through the gap between the door and the frame and he takes it in his own, interlocking his fingers with hers.

"Does this mean… are we… we're officially courting?" Her voice is raspy, but there's a hidden joy beneath.

"Yeah." Kristoff grins. "I guess we are."

A small smile graces her lips as she opens the door and pulls him into her room, shutting the door behind them.

"Do you want me to…" she blushes and gestures awkwardly to his waist.

"Only if you want to."

The princess can see that Kristoff's amber eyes are kind and forgiving, even in the darkness of the room.

His tone has perked up considerably when he speaks again: "Or, we could just cuddle, if you'd like."

Anna contemplates. "I think… I think I'd like to cuddle." She bites her lip. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

"Still afraid of the dark?" Kristoff teases. Her face falls, and she shakes her head.

"Before you left, you told me that you have nightmares… about me freezing to death…"

She lets out a _whoosh_ of air and smears her hair back with her flat hands, away from her face, foreshadowing the severity of her words.

"Well, _I_ have nightmares of _you_ freezing to death, too. Falling through the ice… and I'm not there to jump in after you or do anything to save you. I just have to wait here at the palace for you to come home, helpless and useless... and what if the day comes when you _don't_ come home? _That's_ my true fear. The entire time you were gone, I was so worried– I'm always worried when you're gone– and I think it just makes me a little crazy, sometimes. Not that that's any excuse for my behavior."

The ice man pulls his princess close and tucks her head underneath his chin, embracing her, and her body relaxes against his. His heart palpitates painfully; to know that she loves him so much that it causes her distress when he's away absolutely _kills_ him inside. How could he ever leave her again now that he has this knowledge?

"You're _always_ a little crazy," he murmurs lovingly against her hair, and she lets out a breath like a laugh. He pulls away to gaze into her eyes. "It's been a long day. We're both stressed and burnt out after everything that's happened. Let's try to get some rest, and I bet we'll feel better in the morning. How does that sound?"

Anna leans into him and nods her agreement, her forehead rubbing against his chest. Effortlessly, he lifts his princess and carries her over to the bed to tuck them in together. They fall asleep in each other's arms.

The next morning, Kristoff is awoken before the crack of dawn by Elsa herself, who presses a finger to her lips to indicate that he should be quiet. Slipping carefully out of Anna's unconscious embrace, he follows the white-haired queen out into the hallway. He's still dressed shamefully in his dinner clothes, the fabric rumpled from sleeping in them.

"I have something I need you to do," Elsa whispers. "It's for Anna."

Kristoff yawns and scratches the back of his head. "Sure, whatever you need."

The queen clasps her hands together excitedly.

"Great! I need you to go to the baker in town and pick up the cake. Once you're back, you can start decorating the courtyard. Kai and Gerda are busy in the kitchens directing the cooks."

Then, as an aside: "We'll be preparing considerably less food for the party, now that the Earl of Orkney and his posse will no longer be joining in the celebration."

Her expression flashes briefly with smugness, but she recuperates instantly, regally.

"Kristoff…" She sighs. "I _do_ hope that you'll do right by my sister… I mean, I don't _doubt_ that you _will_ , but– you know."

Kristoff nods. "I want to do the honorable thing. Which is why we haven't… _you know_ … yet."

Elsa winces at his confession, but her light blue eyes widen slightly in surprise. "Last night, you didn't–"

"We didn't. She was upset."

"Well, you know Anna. She doesn't hold grudges," Elsa says wistfully, shaking her head. "I'm sure Prince Hans could waltz in through the castle gates today and she'd still find it in her heart to forgive him. She's much too loving for her own good."

Her face softens. "She really _does_ love you."

"And I love her," Kristoff replies quietly without thinking. A wave of emotion washes over him like warm water; he loves Anna. And he just admitted it out loud to her older sister.

Perhaps it's progress.

Elsa nods her understanding, smiling, and turns to leave before she stops and faces the ice master again.

"And Kristoff?" Giving him a once over, Elsa meets his eyes with a lift of her eyebrow. "Be sure to have your clothing laundered before the party."

Elsa's words ring in his head all day, spinning around and around like a windmill. Not the ones about his clothes (which he had promptly dropped off to the royal washroom to be cleaned and steamed), but the bit about Anna loving him.

 _She really does love you._

And he really does love her.

He's sitting at a table in in the courtyard with his boots propped up, resting his hands behind his head and dying of boredom. The cake's been delivered safe and sound, the tables are set, the decorations are up. All that's left to do is to paint the "Happy Birthday, Anna" banner, but there's time for that yet.

He tried to look for a last-minute gift for the birthday girl while he was in town, but nothing stuck out to him as the perfect present. How could he find a gift that adequately shows his princess how much he loves her when he can't even say the damned words to her face?

Maybe if he can't say it, he can sing it.

A sudden burst of inspiration hits him then, and he snatches his lute from where it leans against the wall before the lyrics in his brain can get away from him. He strums a few chords to find his rhythm, and quickly loses himself in the process.

He practices until Elsa arrives and starts obsessively fussing with the table settings, at which point he and Sven grab the paint buckets and brushes and get to work on the bunting.

She leaves shortly thereafter to fetch Anna, but not before giving Olaf and Kristoff explicit instructions about how everything has to be absolutely _perfect_.

So, naturally, everything delves into absolute chaos.

Kristoff spends most of the afternoon fighting off the dozens of mischievous snow babies that seemingly appear out of thin air, whose sole mission on this good, green earth is to do nothing but wreak havoc on Princess Anna's party; he supposes this kind of thing comes with the territory when you're courting the younger, quirkier sister of a magical ice queen, so he takes it in stride.

And he'd do it all again in a heartbeat, if only to see the wondrous look on Anna's face when she finally arrives.

He's never seen her so happy. He's happy seeing her so happy. He _loves_ seeing her so happy. She'd been dreaming of this day for far too long, and despite the hiccups it's still everything she's ever wanted and _more_ ; all he can do is watch her as all she can do is watch the moment unfold before her in awe, and she smiles so hard that it hurts as everyone she loves and cares about dances and sings around her. This is all for _her_ , and she deserves it; she deserves the world.

And Kristoff wants to be the one to give it to her.

Maybe it's the empath that Anna brings out in him, or he's simply caught up in the overwhelming emotion of the party, or he's under the pressure to truly make this birthday the most memorable, perfect celebration that Anna's ever experienced in her young life, but before Kristoff can realize what he's doing he's sliding forward on his knees and holding the cake out to his princess and singing a profession of his love at the top of his lungs.

" _I love you, baby!_ "

Anna gasps and her face lights up like a Christmas tree and she clasps a hand to her heart. She offers Kristoff her smile– that beautiful smile that is just for him and him alone– and if he hadn't been on the ground already he would surely be hitting it head-first now.

His face reddens and turns sheepish; it felt good to finally say the words. _Damn_ good. The words he's been dying to say; the words she's been dying to hear. If they weren't surrounded by Elsa and Olaf and Sven and nearly a hundred random snow critters, he'd swoop her up into a kiss so passionate that even Cupid would have to blush and look away.

Instead, he shrugs and smiles and confirms his love with an, "I do."

She reciprocates his sentiment with the love he sees reflected in her turquoise eyes, before she's swept along with the rest of the party for some cake and ice cream and birthday bugle horn blowing.


	8. Chapter 8

It takes until long after sundown for Kristoff, Sven, and Olaf to finishing cleaning up the mess in courtyard; surprisingly, the damage caused by the revelling Snowgies was minimal, and a sniffling Elsa had given them a stern talking to about how they need to be on their _best_ behavior for the night before she had allowed Anna to escort her to her queenly chambers to recover.

With nothing left to do, Kristoff makes his way to Anna's bedroom to wait for her to return, propping himself up on the plush green velvet of her settee and passing the time by watching the stars outside her window appear one by one; it's nearly midnight and he has yet to give her his gift.

 _I love you, baby!_

He still can't believe that he finally said the words. He replays the moment over and over in his head, committing Anna's reaction to his memory. It makes him giddy, and the giddiness only adds to the electric hum of his nerves that hasn't quieted since sundown, heightening his nervousness, making him restless; he tries to harness and alchemize the energy into confidence, but neither meditation nor deep thinking were ever his strong suit, and so he continues staring unproductively out of the window.

The angel of his daydream arrives mere minutes before the chime of the hour, and smiles upon seeing Kristoff. He straightens up and pats the empty spot next to himself in invitation; she practically runs over to the settee, and sits down with her legs tucked beneath herself and hands balled on her knees, unable to contain her excitement as she bounces in her seat in anticipation of Kristoff's gift, grinning from ear to ear. He reaches behind himself, over the armrest of the settee, and picks up his lute. Anna's sparkling blue eyes widen.

Clearing his throat, Kristoff strums a note on his lute before singing the song he wrote for her:

 _Other people walk through life where you prefer to skip,_

 _And other people watch their step where you'll most likely trip;_

 _Sure, your hair's a mess–_

 _And there's– what's that? On your clothes–_

 _Yeah, you're kinda talkative,_

 _With freckles on your nose._

 _But you're you, you, you,_

 _And that's what makes me smile._

 _You're you, you, you,_

 _So stay that way awhile._

 _You don't have to say a thing, I know the way you feel._

 _Your face is like an open book; so beautiful and real._

 _Other people lie and cheat,_

 _One push may come to shove._

 _Your heart doesn't work like that–_

 _And you're the girl I love._

 _You're you, you, you;_

 _That's how I hope you stay._

 _You're you, you, you;_

 _But anyway, that's all I've got to say._

He sets his lute down in his lap and shoots her a sheepish grin, his face burning with embarrassment.

"It's, uhh, a bit of a work in progress," he chortles awkwardly.

Anna is staring at him, mouth agape, not saying a word. He shuffles awkwardly on the divan, shifting his weight, waiting for a reaction.

At long last, she leans forward and places a hand on either of his cheeks, holding his face steady so she can gaze into his eyes.

"That was the most _wonderful_ gift anyone's ever given me."

When he opens his mouth to respond her own mouth crashes against his, and he hurriedly sets his lute on the floor before wrapping his arms around his princess in time for her to scramble on top of him, their bodies entwining together on the settee that he's much too big to fit on properly to begin with.

He crushes her small frame against him as he deepens the kiss, enfolding her into his broad chest, and reaches up to tug at the ends of her hair ribbons, allowing the strawberry-blonde locks to fall free. His hands find her hips and grip them for leverage as Anna grinds down against him, her own delicate hands splaying across his covered pecs and fanning out, pushing his vest apart until he can shimmy it down his arms, before moving on to pull his shirt free from where the material is tucked into his trousers. He breaks the kiss and sits up enough to pull the shirt over his head, before he moves for her embroidered vest and then the bodice of her birthday dress, clumsily pulling at the lacing that criss-crosses on the back in fervor.

She leaps up and off of him, jumping on one foot on the floor and then the other as she struggles to remove her slippers and stockings. Kristoff stands and grabs her wrist, gently, steadying her, and kisses her pulsepoint to stop her before she can remove another garment.

When he speaks, his voice is husky: "Let me."

She concedes with a whimper at his command, and it takes all of his self-control to not simply rip the dress from her body and leave it in tatters on the floor. He does his best to unlace and remove her gown and blouse with steady hands, slipping his fingers beneath the straps of her chemise and sliding the material downward until it pools at her feet with the rest of the articles in a heap of blue and yellow.

Anna reaches for Kristoff's britches and pulls them down for him, and when he steps out of his own shoes and stockings, he realizes that they're both standing there as naked as babes.

"Wow, Anna," he breathes her name like a prayer, drinking in the sight of her in with his dark gaze.

His eyes trail up her smooth, slender legs, to the heaven at the apex of her thighs, then the softness of her stomach; past the round, petite swells of her breasts, to her angelic face framed by disheveled strawberry-blonde curls. Anna similarly sizes him up, her gaze lingering on the magnificence of his erection, and when she finally meets his eyes she's blushing all over.

She's so incredibly beautiful, inside and out, and she loves _him_ ; just as much as he loves her.

Overwhelmed by emotion, Kristoff steals forward and kisses her deliberately, guiding his princess towards the bed as he does so; he only breaks the kiss to lay her down, carefully, lovingly, before kneeling at the end of the bed, aligning his face with her navel.

He inhales her scent; it's musky, and primal, and causes the fire in his belly to burn brighter, hotter, engulfing his senses. When he exhales, his hot, moist breath ghosts over her sex and Anna shudders; when he glances up, she's gazing down at him with a question on her face, her eyes curious.

Without breaking eye contact with his princess, Kristoff presses his puckered lips to her sensitive pearl and she jumps at the sensation. He repeats the action and she gasps in surprise at the intensity of it. His arms come up to snake around her milky thighs, to pull her center closer to his mouth, effectively trapping her in place; with nowhere else to go, Anna's fingers curl in the satin bedsheets to anchor herself as she resigns herself to this new experience, her dark blue eyes trained on him, watching him.

He darts his tongue out to taste her, sliding the tip of his tongue up along her slit in one languid stroke, causing Anna to keen and throw her head back. Her folds become slick as he continues to lap at her, addicted to her flavor, and her petals engorge and cream further with each flick of his tongue. She squirms and bucks her hips, her breaths coming in short pants, and Kristoff is intoxicated by the combination of stimuli, rutting his own sex against the mattress in a desperate, animalistic need to find release as he continues to pleasure her with his mouth and tongue.

Kristoff licks and sucks at bites until her quim is shiny with wet and Anna is nearly screaming her cries of pleasure; she fists her hands roughly in his hair, jarring him back to reality, and he stops his feasting to climb on top of her, his lips and chin coated in her essence. He smashes his mouth against hers and kisses his princess, slow and deep, allowing Anna to taste herself on him, and she moans into the kiss, squirming needily beneath him.

Breaking the kiss to catch her breath, Anna reaches down between them sooner than he can, eagerly gripping his hardened member in her tiny grasp and lining him up with her entrance, committing them to this act before Kristoff can second-guess himself. Her other hand tangles in the soft locks of golden blonde hair at the base of his neck, forcing him to look at her.

When he gazes into her eyes for confirmation, there isn't a single trace of fear present in her shimmering turquoise irises; only love.

As controlled as he possibly can, he guides his length into her, his eyes squeezing shut as he sheathes himself in her tight, wet warmth to the hilt. The sensation of her inner muscles clenching so perfectly around him is too much and he lets out a strangled moan and stills.

Never in his wildest dreams did he ever even come close to imagining how _incredible_ it truly feels; it feels _right_. Being inside of his princess at last– joining with Anna, becoming one with his true love– is pure, unadulterated rapture, and– unable to hold back his emotions– he whispers confessions of his love for her in her ear, over and over.

"I love you, Anna," he murmurs. "I love you. I love you."

When he finally has the lucidity to pull back to look down at Anna's face, what he sees causes his blood to freeze.

Her face is flushed and scrunched in discomfort; her eyes are welled with tears.

"It hurts," she whimpers, pushing against his shoulders. And then, high-pitched and wailing: " _It hurts, Kristoff_."

A sob escapes her throat and he winces at the sound. He's causing her pain.

What has he done?

Not quickly enough, he pulls out of her, and the pained cry this action elicits from his princess snaps his heart in half. She's bawling now, bringing her hands up to cover her face, and all Kristoff can do is stare down at her, dumbfounded, not sure what he can even do to try to begin to fix this.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she bemoans. "I wanted to be brave…"

Her tears spill over, leaving hot, stinging trails down her cheeks and he presses his lips to the wetness, shushing her as he wraps his arms under and around her, bringing her into the protective cocoon of his body. She twines her arms around his back and holds fast.

" _Fuck_ , Anna." He hisses her name quietly in an apology, cursing himself.

"I'm so sorry, Kristoff," she whispers into the crook of his neck. "I ruined it."

He hushes her. "No, no. Don't be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't ruin anything."

He presses his lips to the crown of her head in a chaste kiss and speaks against the damp, mussed hair of her fringe that's matted to her forehead. "We can always try again another time. I promise it will be better next time."

Reaching down, he pulls the quilt over them, carefully tucking in the edges around Anna's trembling frame so that she won't be cold. They stay like that– Anna crying and sniffling into his chest, and Kristoff shushing her with soothing words and caressing her back– until she finally falls asleep in his arms.

Kristoff, on the other hand, remains awake, the guilt kneading and knotting and hardening in his gut, inwardly damning the unfairness of the universe until the stars disappear from the sky and the first rosy-purple rays of sunlight creep into the room and across the floor.

How could something that was supposed to be so right have gone so horribly wrong?

–

 **I took a few liberties with Kristen and Robert Lopez's lyrics for "You're You" for Kristoff's song to make it sound less douchebaggy (Hans) and more cheeky (Kristoff). But credit still to them! And I know, ANGST AGAIN?, I'm the worst. But only one chapter (maybe two) left~~~**


	9. Chapter 9

He hates to leave Anna so soon after their misstep in the bedchamber, but when Elsa asks him the following morning at breakfast to take the Snowgies to the palace on the North Mountain to live with Marshmallow, he has no choice but to accept.

He kisses Anna goodbye before he departs in his sled full of hyperactive, chittering snow critters; she kisses him back, but he can feel the guilt and regret in the way her lips quake against his own and it tugs at his already taut heartstrings. He wants to say something to her, but, as usual, he can't find the words, so he silently affixes his woolen cap to his head and gives her what he hope she interprets as a reassuring look before starting Sven off with a flick of the reins.

When Kristoff returns from his trip, it's already the day of the Midsummer Festival and Anna is a Pagan goddess in her white peasant dress and laurels.

Her hair is braided back in a chignon beneath her flower crown, a few auburn curls falling loose to frame her fresh, freckled face. She's barefoot, and the cap sleeves of her diaphanous dress sit precariously at the crests of her shoulders, threatening to slip sultrily at any second; it teases Kristoff to no end.

Elsa is dressed in her own formal festival wear: a traditional folk gown of ivory and crimson that makes her look more regal than Dionysian. Never one to be too conservative however, despite being the queen, she's pulled her hair back into a half-up style with icy flower blooms woven throughout, and painted a touch of rouge on her lips. Kristoff thinks the look suits her.

Arendelle's Ice Master and Deliverer dons his own festival garb to match Anna's, consisting of a cotton poet's shirt with his leather boots, and his dark woolen trousers cinched at his waist with the scarlet sash. Anna thinks he looks like a pirate from a children's story and tells him so, and they both end up howling in laughter so hard together that any of the tension that remained between them dissipates like melting snow in the springtime.

The town square is bustling with people and street vendors, alive with the Midsummer festivities, at the center of which is the maypole, surrounded by young girls dressed in white who dance and twirl with the ribbons. Anna runs off to join them and Kristoff watches, captivated, as she spins around and around in time with the music, laughing joyously, her skin reddening to a delicious shade of pink from the exertion of the movements.

When she returns to their small group she stumbles into Kristoff and has to grab his arm to stay upright, breathing heavily; he hands her a mug of diluted wine from a passing cart and she downs it in one go, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"This is _amazing_ ," she gasps out, gesturing to the festival around her, and the mountain man can barely detect the hint of sadness that underlies her words; he knows that beneath her excited facade is regret for all of the years she spent cooped up at the palace.

"It's too bad that Sven had to miss all of this," Kristoff says woefully. "He was so exhausted after our trip."

Anna pats him on the arm reassuringly. "We'll be sure to get him a souvenir."

Elsa and Olaf saunter off for snow cones, and so Kristoff buys himself and Anna two legs of roasted mutton, which they snack on as they wander the streets, checking out the variety of merchants and their wares. Kristoff buys some lemon cakes as a treat for Sven, and Anna picks out a dashing royal-blue silk scarf as her gift for the reindeer. When Anna lingers at a particular jewelry stand, Kristoff notices the way she eyes the rings for sale, the gold and silver bands sparkling in the sunlight, and he pats his pocket subconsciously while she has her back turned to him; the ring from Grand Pabbie is still there.

"What are they doing over there?" Anna asks suddenly when she turns around, pointing to a line of people lead by a priest.

"Mock weddings," Kristoff explains. "They symbolize new life and good fortune in the season to come."

Anna's eyes light up. "Let's do it!"

"They're usually for children– _ack!_ "

She grabs him by the hand and yanks him to the altar, thrusting the burly blonde man forward to stand before the priest, who gives Kristoff a look that's somewhere between pity and humor. A young girl hands Anna a mixed flower bouquet, which she takes in earnest, before turning to face Kristoff with an excited grin spreading across her cheeks; he's sure his own grin looks much less elegant.

She's here– with him– because she chose _him_. Out of all of the possible suitors she could have possibly chosen… _she chose_ _him_. Kristoff doesn't even hear the priest as he speaks the ancient words about love and life and new beginnings, too entranced by the sparkle in Anna's eyes and the music of her giggles as she recites the mock vows she's been instructed to say, and somehow he mindlessly does the same. He only snaps out of his lovestruck stupor when Anna stands up on her tiptoes and plops a flower crown on his head and kisses him at the end of the ceremony, to a round of cheers and applause from the onlookers surrounding them.

If this is anything what marrying Anna would feel like… well, he thinks that he could do it. He would do it.

He _wants_ to do it.

He still has the ring in his pocket, and he considers pulling it out, but then decides that trying to propose during a fake wedding would quite possibly be the _worst_ proposal ever– or maybe it would be the cutest. He isn't sure, but he's missed his chance, anyway, as Anna's already scampered off to her next nearby adventure.

As the sun begins to set, the couple makes their way to the outskirts of the square, where a raging bonfire has been erected. They watch the flames for a bit, and Kristoff explains to Anna that tonight, all up and down the coast, people will be lighting similar fires to ward against evil spirits. He tells her that he always has the best view from up in the mountains, where the dozens of tiny fires look like constellations, and Anna replies that she'd like to see it sometime with him; he promises to take her next year and she smiles the smile that is just for him, causing him to melt, and he's certain that the burning he feels in his abdomen is because of his love for Anna and not simply from the heat of the fire.

When the heat of the fire _does_ become too much, however, they wander towards the docks for some fresh air, and Anna sighs and leans forward with both hands against the railing, relishing in the feel of the cool ocean breeze that blows over her warmed skin. Kristoff leans with his hip against the metal bar, crossing his arms, looking out over the inlet with her.

A few minutes of comfortable silence pass between them. Anna still has her bouquet from their mock wedding, and she inspects it; it's made up of seven different flower types, carefully arranged with the most colorful and larger blooms centered towards the middle.

"You know, they say if you put that bouquet under your pillow tonight, you'll dream of your future husband," Kristoff points out when Anna starts poking curiously at the flowers.

"Would it work for you?" She plucks a single butter-yellow petal and lets it drift to the ground.

"What?"

Anna's blue eyes meet his, reflecting the beams of silver moonlight that shimmer on the water below. "If you put these under your pillow tonight, would you dream of your future wife?"

A tidal wave of clarity washes over Kristoff at her question, and he instantaneously feels calm and more sure of himself than he ever has in his life prior to this moment as he gazes into the deep, honest blues of her eyes.

"I already dream of her… _you_... every night." The words leave his lips of their own accord, and before he can even process what he's doing, he falls to a knee in front of his princess.

Anna blinks. "What are you saying, Kristoff?"

"I'm saying…" He reaches into the pocket of his trousers; when his hand reemerges, he's holding the braided stone-and-grass band with the glowing purple solitaire. "I want you to be my wife, Anna."

Anna gasps and her hands fly to her mouth, smothering the bottom half of her face with her bouquet.

" _Ah oo eeries?_ "

"Anna, I can't understand you with the flowers covering your mouth."

" _Oop, shorry._ " She pulls the flowers away. "I said, 'Are you serious?'"

Fighting back the urge to audibly gulp, Kristoff nods; his voice is sincere. "Totally serious. May we?"

Anna's eyes glisten as she echoes the words that initiated their first kiss: "We may."

Rising from his kneeling position, Kristoff takes Anna's dainty hand in his own and slides the engagement ring on her corresponding finger; it's a perfect fit. His head comes down so he can kiss her, and she raises herself up on the balls of her feet, and their lips meet in a kiss that is both chaste and loving, unrushed, both of them wanting to take their time to savor this moment, to live in it forever.

He feels the familiar coiling of desire in his gut when she wraps her arms around him to pull herself closer into his body, smushing her unrestricted breasts against his chest, deepening the kiss by slipping her tongue into his mouth.

The kiss is quickly becoming much too heated for a public forum, and so Kristoff moves them between a row of boathouses, finding a dark corner in which he lifts the petite Anna in his arms as easily as a pillow and presses her back against the wall.

Anyone who would happen to pass by or catch a glimpse of the two lovers entwined together in the alley would probably assume they were simply drunken festival revellers of insignificant status caught up in the carnality of the Midsummer night, and most definitely _not_ the Crown Princess of Arendelle and her consort.

Kristoff nuzzles his face into Anna's hair and bites down on her neck, hard, and she keens in response, panting breathlessly in his ear as her fingers find purchase on his shoulders, her fingernails digging through the thin material of his shirt into the flesh beneath. Burying his face in the space where her neck meets his shoulder to stifle a moan, he grinds against her, his body too full of love and desire to remain still, and she moans– loudly.

The night wasn't over yet.

Taking her by the hand, Kristoff makes a run for the castle with his princess, never once stopping or looking back.

They crash through the door to Kristoff's dark bedchamber just in time for Anna to toss her bouquet somewhere unimportant, opening her hands to free Kristoff from the tight constriction of his trousers before he loses a limb (or worse). He's surprised at her boldness, considering the trauma of their failed attempt only a few days earlier, but he doesn't stop her; instead, he kicks off his boots and pants before his own hands move to work at the fabric of her shift, bunching the material up her body until he has enough leverage to pull the entire damned thing over her head.

In true Pagan fashion, she isn't wearing any underwear beneath the gown, and Kristoff's hand hastily reaches down between them as he lets out a whimper of appreciation at the sight of her perfect nude form; he pushes his fingers into Anna, drawing out her wetness, coating his fingers and her inner thighs with her essence as she gasps repeatedly into his shoulder and grips his sides, leaning heavily into him, struggling to stay upright on unsteady legs.

Her trembling fingers dip below the hem of his shirt– the final garment between them– and he obliges, pulling it up and over his head, discarding it somewhere to the floor behind him without much fanfare.

Her arms snake around his neck and she steps backwards; she drags him down onto the bed with her and he adjusts his weight, settling on top of her. He knows what she wants– what they _both_ want– and he aligns himself at her center, the weeping tip of his throbbing member pressing against her entrance.

He hesitates then, afraid of hurting her again; sensing his reluctance, Anna reaches down and grips his rear with both hands and pushes him forward, into her welcoming flesh; they both groan in unison at the sensation of their joining. His head falls forward with a hiss and he presses his forehead to Anna's, trying to steady his breathing.

"Is… are you alright?" he asks, weakly, his voice straining; it's almost too much effort to hold himself back. She nods and the tip of her nose rubs against his.

"Yes." She shifts a little, as if to prove her words. "It doesn't hurt."

To test the waters, Kristoff pulls out once and pushes back in, shuddering at the pleasurable sensation; it's pure euphoria. Pleasure begins to blossom in Anna's core as well, and she inadvertently pushes her hips up, rising off the bed, in an attempt to create more friction. Thin arms twine tightly around Kristoff's neck and he repeats the movement, penetrating her, enshrining himself nearly to the hilt before extracting himself and doing it again; soon enough he finds a slow, steady, rhythm, bracing himself on his hands on either side of Anna as he kisses her deeply through her moans, making love to her.

He can feel the way she clenches tighter around him and he increases his pace, pounding against the same spot in her womb, and Anna cries out, clutching him as though her very life depends on it. It only serves to spur him on, causing him to rock into her harder and faster, dizzy with the intoxicating bliss of their lovemaking as he races towards the edge with his love. The crystal on her ring finger glows brighter with each thrust and each heightened emotion between them, casting the two lovers in the warmth of the magical violet glow of it.

" _Kristoff,_ " she chokes out his name in a moan and the sound of it causes him to shatter, hiding his face in the crook of her neck to muffle his own noises; she climaxes at the same time, convulsing beneath him as she wails, and he finishes with a final groan and a few hard thrusts before stilling and collapsing atop his princess with his arms wrapped beneath her.

They lay like that for some time to regain their breathing, coming down from their respective highs, content to just hold each other in the afterglow.

When Kristoff has control of his limbs again, he raises himself up and slides his softness from her; there's a bit of blood streaked on his depleted organ and the inside of her thighs, but not much. She's watching his face with a mixture of sated exhaustion and adoration, and Kristoff can't help but break out into a grin and hug her close once more.

Not wanting to leave the warmth of their bed, but wanting to take care of his princess, Kristoff kisses Anna briefly before he gets up and disappears into the bath chamber. He returns moments later with a wet linen and uses it to wipe her clean; she coos at the feeling of the cold water against her soreness.

Tossing the damp, dirtied cloth aside, Kristoff climbs back into the bed and scoops Anna into his arms, carefully removing her smashed flower crown and setting it aside before tucking her head under his chin; he plants a lingering kiss atop the crest of her head.

"I love you, Anna," he murmurs.

She mumbles something similar into the hairs on his chest before falling asleep. He's snoring shortly after.

It's the most peaceful, restful sleep of their lives, and they each dream of each other that night– no under-pillow bouquet needed.

–

 **ONE MORE CHAPTER!**


	10. Chapter 10

The day of the wedding comes much too quickly, and yet it can't come quickly enough.

In the morning Kristoff is awoken before first light by a herd of valets and stewards sent to help him wash, dress, and prepare for the ceremony; they find him alone, as Kristoff and Anna had spent the night before in their separate, respective beds– the first night they've slept apart since the Midsummer celebration.

The head steward– or rather, the man who Kristoff interprets to be the head steward– prattles on about the order of events for the day, starting with his washing; as the sleepy mountain man is poked and prodded and stripped bare by many strange hands, he's forced into a bath that's been prepared for him and instructed to wash and wash _well_. He does so, awkwardly, trying to focus on the task at hand and not the dozen or so men surrounding him in a semi-circle with their backs turned.

"I, uh, usually do this alone," he squeaks without confidence. The head steward turns and gives him a smugly disdainful puckering of his lips in response.

"Queen Elsa seemed to be under the impression that you would shirk a proper bath if you did not have adequate supervision."

"Ah."

After he's washed and dried, the men set to work on dressing him in his ceremonial garments, strapping and clasping and buckling him into the many parts and pieces of his ensemble. When they've finished, they step back, and Kristoff turns this way and that, checking himself out in the mirror before him; he's wearing shiny leather boots, tailored crimson trousers (held up with a belt that matches his shoes), and a fitted white blazer adorned with golden epaulets, buttons, and an aiguillette. The outfit is topped off with a red sash at a diagonal across his broad chest, which an attendant clicks into place at his shoulder. He looks rather dashing; like a proper Prince Consort.

For the first time in his life, however, he jingles whenever he moves. He isn't sure if he likes it.

It's only when Kai arrives in the middle of breakfast to relieve the gaggle of attendants from their duties that Kristoff allows himself to heave out the breath he's been holding in since dawn.

"Are weddings always this… _involved?_ " Kristoff asks him, flabbergasted as he sets down his fork and rises, agitated, from the round table in the corner of his chamber. He's hardly eaten any of his meal, but he can't stomach another bite.

Kai chuckles, and claps a friendly hand on the younger man's back. "Only in Arendelle."

It's obviously a joke, but Kristoff's half-hearted laugh in response still twangs with nervousness. Kai seems to pick up on this and moves to stand in front of Kristoff, reaching out to straighten his lapels.

"You've got this, kid."

All Kristoff can do is mumble a gracious word of thanks; anything more and he may throw up his meager breakfast onto his freshly-polished shoes.

Kai leads Kristoff down and out of the castle, where a horse-drawn carriage is waiting for them in the courtyard.

Kristoff glances around anxiously. "Where's–"

"Sven is already at the church."

"Oh."

He climbs in beside Kai and a groom closes the door. There's the shuffling of heeled boots on the cobblestone and the carriage shifts slightly before it comes to life, starting off with a jump that causes Kristoff's stomach to lurch into his throat.

He watches the scenery pass outside the carriage window without really watching, biting his fist as though it were an apple, desperate for something to sink his teeth into to ease his anxiety.

The carriage jolts to a halt when it reaches the ancient cathedral, and the door magically opens to free the passengers inside. Kristoff gulps as he stumbles over the seat and practically falls out of the vehicle, before beginning his ascent up the steps leading to the doors of the building, its towering facade intimidating against the stark blueness of the July sky, feeling his apprehension growing with each footfall that brings him closer to cementing his future.

An usher greets him at the door and takes his arm; the young lad leads Kristoff to the front of the massive room, past hundreds of pairs of eyes all focused on him, and deposits him before the altar and the priest before bowing out with his departure. Sven and Olaf are seated together in the first pew, and they wave at Kristoff, who somehow manages to wave back with a weak wiggling of his fingers. The air is full of the din of the murmurs of the crowd, as well as the angelic voices of the choir, but Kristoff hears none of it; he's only painfully aware of the sound of blood rushing in his ears and the panicked screaming inside of his own mind. His boots are too new and they cramp his toes, since he hadn't been given the chance to break them in, and he winces in pain when he shuffles his weight on them.

The music shifts then and the crowd quiets, snapping Kristoff from his daze. He turns his head towards the back of the church just in time to see the heavy double doors open wide; the members of the crowd all stand at once in reverence.

His princess enters the cathedral, a silhouette against the bright light of day behind her, escorted by Elsa. The doors are closed and the crowd coos and Kristoff is instantly reminded that all of this– the hours of torment, the public bathing, the nerves, the stuffy, restrictive clothes– is for her.

He would do _anything_ for her.

The choir begins singing a wedding hymn and Anna makes her way slowly down the aisle; if Kristoff didn't know her as well as he did, he wouldn't have noticed the way she buzzed with barely-restrained energy, her flushed and freckled cheeks sucked inward from the effort of holding in her excitement, her blue eyes focused on him and radiating nothing but love. Her strawberry-blonde locks are done up in a braided chignon, and she's wearing a gown and veil of crisp, silken white, decked out in thousands of appliqued flowers made from ice, which sparkle in the sunlight that streams in through the tall cathedral windows in a dazzling light show. The bouquet trapped in her pale-knuckled grip is reminiscent of the one she received at their mock wedding a month earlier.

Elsa gives Anna away to Kristoff by placing the princess' dainty hand in his and the redheaded princess beams up at him from her place at his side, quivering in her slippers.

The minister begins speaking, and Anna gives Kristoff's hand a reassuring squeeze between them, and he squeezes back, and they both say the words that bind them together for eternity in the eyes of God and men. When the moment comes, Kristoff turns to face Anna and places the ring on her finger and swears his fidelity, and she does the same, giving him his own solid gold band that's been incised with sunflowers and snowflakes by the royal metalsmith.

When the minister decrees that the ritual is complete, and that Anna is Kristoff's wife and he is her husband, the former recluse wastes no time in kissing his bride, much to the delight of the crowd, igniting the room in applause and cheers. He feels Anna smile against his lips and he can't help but smile as well.

The reception following the ceremony is a party that rivals the celebration that followed after The Great Thaw a year earlier, but both Anna and Kristoff are eager to leave after they've made the obligatory appearance.

As the sun begins to set outside the great hall, Anna wordlessly nudges Kristoff with her elbow; a knowing look passes between them, and the blonde man takes his wife's hand in his own. They sneak out of the hall together, unnoticed, and out into the bailey, where Sven is already waiting with the sled.

The trip through the mountains is smooth and uneventful, and the sun dips below the treeline, taking the last of the light with it when they reach their destination. Sven loosens his harness with his teeth and trots off to sleep in the barn almost immediately upon arriving at Kristoff's cabin in the darkened clearing, shooting his oldest friend a wink before disappearing from view.

Kristoff disembarks first before rounding the sled to help his wife down; when she places a hand on his shoulder for support and the other in his own hand, however, Kristoff surprises her by swinging a giggling Anna into his arms, bridal-style, to carry her over the threshold.

Once inside, he sets her on her feet with a rustle of fabric, and she shivers at the loss of contact. The air inside the sparsely furnished, one-room cabin is warm and humid, but comfortable, and Kristoff sets to work on lighting a small fire in the fireplace for light.

Anna makes her way over to her new husband and wraps herself around him, embracing him from behind as the fire blazes to life, and he leans back into her for a moment, content with watching the flames dance and enjoying the feel of her petite body against his own.

As the fire grows, so does the desire in Kristoff's belly, and he turns to face Anna; there's no words when he draws her in for a long, slow kiss, and she reciprocates, placing her hands flat against his pecs. Her fingers fumble at his coat and trousers as the kiss becomes heated, carefully unclipping and unbuttoning and removing each layer with tender care, but it's obvious that she's becoming increasingly frustrated each time she peels away a garment only to reveal another one beneath; it only serves to heighten the tension building between them.

He doesn't want to rush, wants to take his time to savor her and this night– their wedding night– but Anna has other plans as her hands free him from the last of his clothing and roam eagerly over the plane of his bare chest and down his stomach, the muscles beneath her fingertips rippling under her touch like the waves of the fjord, and Kristoff finds that he can't fight the desire that's begun to eat away at him from the inside out.

They have the rest of their lives to make love; tonight, they'll give into passion, letting their emotions and urges guide them– their first time as husband and wife.

When it's Kristoff's turn to undress Anna, he struggles with the many buttons and lacings of her gown, and she whimpers and bucks against him, urging him to go faster. When at last she's free of her veil and dress and shoes and undergarments she tackles Kristoff to the bed, pushing him down and straddling his waist, and her lips pepper his face with worshipping kisses until he claims her reckless mouth with his own. His tongue delves inside and she moans, rutting against him, on top of him, and Kristoff can feel that she is already slick with cream against his sex.

Desperately, he grinds up against Anna's heat and she shudders with a gasp as the sensation runs its course through her body; the sound winds him tighter, his arousal coiling in the pit of his abdomen like a spring.

As if reading his mind, Anna reaches down to grip Kristoff's hardened length and lines it up with her opening, ready to receive him; they lock eyes as she fearlessly sinks onto him, enveloping him in her tight warmth and eliciting a primal groan from deep in his throat.

Having Anna finally take control feels _incredible_ – even better than he ever dreamed– and his thoughts fog over with need as Anna lifts herself up and sinks on him again, letting out her own mewl of satisfaction at the friction it creates. Her body is trembling with pleasure, and Kristoff reaches out to steady her movements with his hands on her hips, guiding her until she finds her rhythm, swaying above him shamelessly as she bounces on his cock. A thin sheen of perspiration forms on her skin and Kristoff's hands start to slip, so he grips her tighter, digging his fingers into her silky flesh as he thrusts deeper, losing himself in his love.

Anna comes first, shattering atop him with a shriek before falling forward into him, and the way her inner muscles clench around him cause Kristoff to reach his own euphoric climax as he holds her quaking body flush against himself.

When they've calmed a bit, the burly man pulls his wife close as he lays back against the pillows. Anna allows herself to be cradled, melting into his body, molding herself to him as though she were made to be there, and lets out a sigh. They lay there in silence for a few minutes, listening to the harmony of each other's breathing along with the dying embers that crackle in the grate on the other side of the room.

Kristoff has the fleeting realization that the strike of midnight will mark _precisely_ a year to the day that Elsa froze the summer; the day that the feisty Crown Princess of Arendelle coerced the ice harvester into helping her on her mission up the North Mountain and changed his life forever.

"Hey," Kristoff starts up in the silence, his soft voice like a breeze against her damp hair. "Remember that night when we first met, and you asked me what I know about love?"

Anna laughs, the breathy sound rumbling into his chest. "Yeah, when you thought you were some sort of _love expert._ "

"I _never_ claimed that I was," Kristoff corrects her with a playful tap on the nose with his fingertip. "I told you that I had friends who were."

Anna hums in agreement, closing her eyes and snuggling closer into him.

"Anyway... I've realized that... it's you. _You're_ what I know about love, Anna."

She cracks an eye open and gives him a smirk. "Am I, now?"

He gives her a toothy smile of his own. "Yeah, you are."

Closing her eyes once more, Anna sighs contentedly. "Well, you've always been some sort of love expert to me, anyway."

Kristoff's heart swells and he dips his head to kiss his princess on her swollen lips, pouring his heart and soul into the kiss, giving all of himself over to her.

If somebody had tried to tell him a year ago that he could be this incredibly happy, he would have never believed them.

Maybe it's the way she lazily, but lovingly, kisses him back, or maybe it's the way she smiles at him when she pulls away to gaze into his amber eyes with her own warm blues, or maybe it's the way she says his name when she whispers, "Kristoff, I love you," that Kristoff knows without a doubt: with Anna, he's found home.

–

 **Thank you all for the support throughout this story. I hope you've enjoyed it! Kristanna forever~!**


End file.
